


(I know I can) Treat You Better

by imaginationtherapy



Series: Shameless [8]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: AU in that Jakes doesn't leave, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, I don't have much patience for dealing with all of the period typical homophobia, I wanted to read a thing so I wrote it, JarseSquad, M/M, Morse Whump, Original Character(s), Original villain - Freeform, Peter Jakes Didn't Leave Oxford, Protective Jakes, Self-Indulgent, Some Fluff, Worried Jakes, Worried Thursday, but also people taking care of Morse, extremely vague references to Jakes' past, original villain who is refusing to be just a plot device, poor Morse, so it's real mild, some very mild references to period typical homophobia, thats a real tag now, the good guys live, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-11-29 04:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 30,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and all Peter Jakes wants is to get through the day and take Morse home. The man's looking a little worn out. A late afternoon call out to a body puts a wrench into those plans, but it's nothing the boys can't handle. Except nobody was expecting an ambush.





	1. (You) Deserve a Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% pure self-indulgent hurt/comfort. I suddenly had a need for Jakes and Morse in a relationship and Jakes panicking because Morse is injured. Or kidnapped. Or both. This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. I'm trying to write this in a hurry so it doesn't consume my life like all of my other fics have....feel free to kindly point out errors. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, and Thursday decides to send Jakes and Morse off to investigate a possible murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome.  
> Let me just say, this fic was originally supposed to be 2 chapters long. We can see how well that worked. I have an extended series in the planning stages based off of this fic. There will be a few prequels and some sequels. Feel free to comment with any prompts you'd like to see between these two.

The door of Thursday’s office banged open, startling Jakes out of his reverie. Jakes tried to cover up his annoyance at being interrupted, pulling his eyes away from Morse and taking a drag on his cigarette with feigned boredom. Morse, damn him, continued to be as oblivious to Thursday as he had been to Jakes. 

“Body down at Carmeuse Stone. Uniform’s on their way, but the caller insisted on someone from CID. Claims it looked like murder.” Thursday’s grimace told what he thought of that theory. 

Jakes glanced at the clock and tried to suppress another eyeroll. It was Christmas Eve, and they had all been hoping to get through their required paperwork and sign out. No chance of getting out early now. 

Thursday sighed, pulling out his pipe and looking at it woefully. “You and Morse go check it out. If there’s something in it, radio back and I’ll be out.” 

Jakes felt his lips twitch a bit as he glanced over at Morse. Carmeuse was at least a half hour from the nick, and if Thursday wasn’t coming….well, at least he could have Morse to himself for a bit. No prying eyes. He glanced back at Thursday and nodded. “Right. Morse?” They both turned to Morse, who seemed lost in his paperwork.

“Eh, Morse!” Thursday barked, a little louder than necessary.

Morse jumped, staring up at Thursday, pencil tangled in one of his curls. “Yes, sir?” Morse queried, glancing between Thursday and Jakes with a bewildered expression. Jakes didn’t bother trying to hide his smirk this time; anyone who caught it would assume annoyance rather than fond exasperation. Morse tended to get far too lost in his own head sometimes. 

“We’re being sent out to Carmeuse Stone. Suspicious death.” Jakes growled, swinging his suit jacket around and shrugging it on. “C’mon, you. Haven’t got all day. I’ve got someone waiting on me later.” He didn’t wait to catch the slight flush on Morse’s cheeks.

* * *

When Morse caught up with him, Jakes was already waiting in the car. The car park was empty, so Jakes let his normal sneer relax and allowed himself to admire Morse’s lanky frame as the younger man slid into the car. Not that Morse was paying any attention to Jakes. He was too busy being flustered over Jakes’ veiled innuendos and sideways glances. 

“You have to be more careful, Peter. Thursday thinks I know something about whatever girl you’re---what are you looking at?” Morse paused in his rant when he noticed Jakes’ smile.

“You, you idiot,” Jakes replied, reaching out a hand to touch Morse’s cheek. Morse stared at him. Good, finally got the man’s attention. Jakes ran his thumb along Morse’s cheekbone before withdrawing his hand. “I’ve been trying to get your attention all afternoon.”

A shy smile slid across Morse’s face, and Jakes marveled again at the way the younger man’s face lit up when he was happy. Jakes had vowed early on in their clandestine relationship to be the cause of that smile as much as he could. “You’ve got it now,” Morse replied, grabbing Jakes’ hand and giving it a quick squeeze. Then he shivered and glanced outside. “The sooner we get this done, though, the sooner we can go home.”

Jakes put the car into gear reluctantly, glancing over as Morse settled in. “Why on earth did you leave without your coat, Dev?”

Morse glanced down at his arms, seeming surprised at the lack of overcoat. “I forgot?” he offered hesitantly. 

Jakes huffed and reached his hand across the car to take one of Morse’s. “I guess I’ll just have to keep you warm then.”

Morse smiled again and leaned over into Jakes’ space. Like a stray cat he was, Jakes mused. Afraid to seek warmth and suspicious of it when offered, but desperate for it all the same. Jakes had never considered himself a warm person, usually seeking out the bolder coppers for a pint. Conversations with that crowd stayed well away from subjects Jakes prefered avoid and precipitated no ties of loyalty. But something in Morse’s particular brand of loneliness had sparked concern in Jakes, and he found himself more than willing to wrap Morse in the warmth the man needed. Maybe it was because Morse never pushed back. They were both hiding things: memories neither wanted to recall and nightmares made worse if brought into the light of day. They contented themselves in providing for one another in the now, well cognizant of how short-lived that ‘now’ could be and unwilling to face that fact. 

When they finally arrived at the plant, they were both surprised to find no uniforms on sight. 

“Thursday did say they were on their way, didn’t he?” Morse asked, pulling away from Jakes and peering out at the looming machinery. 

Jakes resisted the urge to tug Morse back. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon. Let’s just get this over with.” He paused, letting his voice drop a bit. “I can think of quite a few other things I’d rather be doing.” 

Morse twisted in his seat, face set in the same expression of shocked innocence he always wore when Jakes intimated things. “Peter!”

“Dev.” Jakes growled back. Morse had been looking rather worn all day, and Jakes wanted nothing more than to soothe the exhaustion away. But he knew if he gave in on the urge to kiss Morse now, they’d never get this body found. Besides, uniform could show up at any minute. He settled for running his thumb over that sharp cheekbone again, gratified by the slight sigh that escaped Morse’s lips. “Come on.”

They both climbed out of the car reluctantly. After a brief discussion, they decided to split up. Jakes would check the scattered machinery and Morse would check the perimeter of the main building. The faster they covered the area, the sooner they could get back to warmth. 

The afternoon turned dark, and a light snow started to fall as Jakes prowled around an old truck. He wished he had an extra coat to give Morse. It was cold enough with his own heavy winter jacket, but Morse was out here in nothing but his suit coat. Maybe he should have given the man his Christmas present a bit early. Distracted by his musings, Jakes didn’t hear the startled shout, or the crack of the pistol as it glanced off of someone’s skull. 

He did hear the gunshot, and Morse’s pained yelp that followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The work title and chapter title come from "Treat You Better" by Shawn Mendes. It came on the radio when I was planning this fic, and I just pictured Jakes singing it to Morse.


	2. I promise...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes comes face to face with a figure from his past, one out for revenge. In the blink of an eye, that revenge includes Morse. Jakes feels a fear he didn't know was possible as he watches a murderer drag his Morse into the depths of the factory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have discovered that hurt/comfort is just as much fun to write as it is to read....whoops. Sorry, not sorry?

Jakes spun around, frantically searching the landscape for signs of Morse. God, _Morse_. Please, let his ears be playing tricks on him.

They weren’t.

His eyes found Morse first, lying prone on the ground. Unmoving. Jakes felt his breath freeze in his lungs. Slowly, he shifted his focus to the man standing above Morse: dark coat, battered hat shoved down on his head, and a revolver. A revolver that was trained on Morse. A revolver that had _shot_ Morse.

He heard the tell-tale _click_ of the gun being cocked. God, the man was going to fire again.

“Stop!” Jakes was running-- crying out, trying to distract the man-- before he’d even realized what he was doing. Morse, he had to get to Morse.

The man whirled around, deftly maneuvering himself to a crouching position behind Morse, gun pressing to Morse’s head. 

Jakes froze, fear and hope mingling together. The man was using Morse to protect himself. Morse couldn’t be dead. Right? Jakes searched Morse’s figure, trying to find signs of life. The younger man’s left shoulder was covered in blood. Too much blood. Jakes swallowed, eyes coming to rest on Morse’s face. Blood was oozing from a wound on his forehead, bright crimson on snow-white skin. He still wasn’t moving. 

_Focus, Peter._ Get the man away from Morse. Jakes took a shuddering breath and forced himself to meet the man’s eyes. He promptly lost his breath again.

Mitchel Bertelli. _Oh no._

A sadistic smile spread across the man’s face. “Peter Jakes,” he hissed. “So nice to see you again.”

Jakes tried to even his breathing, tried to stay focused on Bertelli. His eyes kept straying to Morse, willing the man to move.

“Bertelli.” He ground out. “What do you want.”

“What do I want? To kill you.” The man tapped Morse’s skull with the barrel of his gun, none too lightly. “This fellow got in my way. Caught me trying to put a bullet in your back.” Bertelli shrugged. “Don’t matter. I’ve still got 5 left.”

Jakes ground his teeth together, panicked mind refusing to cooperate. _Where was uniform?_

Bertelli’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced between Jakes and Morse a few times. _God, no. Don’t let him guess._ Jakes forced himself to give Morse his usual dispassionate glare. “He has a habit of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.” He relaxed his shoulders. “If it’s me you want, why don’t you just let him be?”

Morse chose that moment to groan, eyelids fluttering. Jakes couldn’t suppress the way his fingers twitched, longing to reach for Morse. _Timing, Morse._

Bertelli’s smile widened. _No. No, no, no!_ “Ah, but why would I do that, when I can play with you a bit instead?” His smile turned into a sneer. “You stole my freedom from me, I wanted to steal your life from you. But maybe I can steal something better.” He grabbed at Morse’s collar, twisting it and hauling Morse to a sitting position. Morse cried out, eyes flying open.

Jakes lunged forward, his only thought of reaching Morse. The sudden reappearance of Bertelli’s gun stopped him short.

“Now, then, Peter. Think carefully.” He pointed the gun at Morse’s right thigh. “I aim to kill him eventually. Maybe you too, if I’ve got enough bullets left. It’s up to you where the rest of these bullets go. Through his heart, or elsewhere first.”

Jakes shot his hands up. They were shaking. “Mitchel. Think about this. If you….just let him go. Alright? If you back away now, I won’t follow. Just….let him go.” He was pleading, begging, something he never thought he would do. But he didn’t care. Morse was the best thing that had happened to him, and he wasn’t about to stand by and watch _his Morse_ die. 

“Peter…” the pained whisper brought Jakes’ attention back to Morse. His blue eyes were huge, face set against the pain. “Don’t. I’m….alright. Just---” Morse whimpered as Bertelli jammed his arm into Morse’s injured shoulder.

“Shut up.” Bertelli hissed. He brought the gun up and placed it at Morse’s side. His dark eyes pierced into Jakes’. “You have no cards to play, my friend. Everything I ever cared for is long gone. I never intended to walk out of here.”

Jakes felt his blood run cold, the emptiness in Bertelli’s eyes far more terrifying than any thing he’d ever faced before. He knew enough about Bertelli to know he was telling the truth: he didn’t care what happened to him. He was driven by revenge. And he had decided Morse was the best way to get that revenge. Jakes tried to steady his breathing, turning his eyes back to Morse. Pained blue eyes met terrified dark ones.

“Morse….” he whispered, fist clenching at his side.

“Ah, good, I have a name,” Bertelli sneered. He twisted Morse’s collar, hard. Morse gave a sharp gasp. “We’ll have a grand old time, now, won’t we Morse.”

“Mitchel, stop. Just….stop. You want me--me, remember?” Jakes’ voice had dropped to a whisper, his eyes still on Morse’s. Willing Morse to keep fighting, to hang on. “Just take me, okay? Let him….let him be.”

“Peter….no!” Morse rasped, fighting to get air into his lungs. “No.”

Bertelli laughed. It was a dark, humorless sound that nearly stopped Jakes’ breathing. “How lovely, both of you willing to die for the other.” He twisted his hand again, cutting off Morse’s air supply entirely. “Sorry, Morse. You don’t have a say in this.” Morse struggled weakly against his own collar, face becoming impossibly whiter.

Jakes was close to breaking, diving at Morse--consequences be damned--when the sound of tires on gravel distracted him. _Uniform!_ Morse gasped below him as Bertelli loosened his grip in response to the new arrival. The gun moved to Morse’s head with lighting speed.

Startled shouts filled the air as several PCs spilled out of the cars, somehow reading danger in Jakes’ body language. 

“Stop them, Peter,” Bertelli demanded. “Or your _friend_ gets another bullet.”

Jakes threw his hands up, turning towards the advancing PCs. “Stand down, men, stand down! Hostage! Stand. Down.” They stopped, thank God, they stopped. He turned back to Bertelli and Morse. 

“Well, this is an interesting development.” Bertelli stood, dragging a struggling Morse with him. “Tell you what, let’s play hide and seek. Morse and I, we’ll go on a stroll through this here factory, and you lot try and find me. I’ll leave you some clues, don’t worry.” His sadistic smile was back as he considered Morse. “I’ll think of something.” He backed towards the building, dragging Morse with him.

Jakes took a step forward. He couldn’t let Morse out of his sight. Not with Bertelli. Not Morse. _God, not Morse._

Bertelli wrapped his arm around Morse’s left arm, pulling it sharply behind the younger man’s back. Morse cried out, the sound tearing Jakes’ heart in two. “You don’t follow. Not yet. Go and fetch the rest of your mates down here. I’d like a show. Then you come find me. Five more bullets, remember.” 

Jakes met Morse’s eyes. “I’m coming, Morse. I’m coming for you.” His voice broke. “Hang on, Morse. I’m coming. I promise.” 

Morse held his gaze until the factory door closed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not supposed to take a whole chapter. This was supposed to be two paragraphs. Unfortunately (fortunately?) my villain had other plans. Welp. Enjoy. I'm off to write the next chapter.


	3. Wasting Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday gets the call: officer down. The report isn't very clear, Sergeant Jakes seemed shaken on the radio. By the time support has arrived, Jakes has managed to calm down. At least, until Bertelli reappears, taunting the coppers below him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments give me life. I'm so sorry (not really) to be causing more pain, but it has to get worse before it gets better. :)

Thursday was smoking his pipe, trying to remain patient as he waited for Jakes and Morse to radio back. How long did it take to find a body? It was bloody cold out, the two of them should have been quicker than this. He checked the clock again, wondering if it had been wise to send the two of them out together. Their distinct dislike of each other had settled into something approaching mutual toleration as of late, but there was still tension there on occasion.

A sharp rap on his door startled Thursday out of his musings. He motioned for the PC to enter, setting his pipe down at the unhealthy pallor of the man. Something was wrong.

“Sergeant Jakes, sir. He just radioed.” The man sounded out of breath. Had he run the whole way here? “Officer down, sir.”

Officer down? Thursday’s heart sped up. It was supposed to be a simple call out. Who was down? One of the uniforms? Jakes made the call….surely not…

“It’s Morse, sir,” the PC continued. 

Thursday jumped to his feet, chair crashing into the wall behind him. “What happened?”

“Ambush, sir. The man tried to get to Jakes, but took Morse hostage instead.” The man’s brow creased in concentration. “Sergeant Jakes seemed flustered, couldn’t get much out of him except request for support and medics.”

Thursday’s heart contracted painfully at that. _Medics._ Morse was injured, taken hostage, and whatever had happened, it was enough to rattle Jakes’ impenetrable calm exterior. Not good. Thursday dismissed the PC with an order to round up spare bodies. He needed to speak with Bright. 

* * *

Jakes was pacing rapidly in behind the uniform’s cars, chain smoking and ignoring the strange looks the PCs were sending him. He kept replaying the last hour in his mind, trying and failing to find a way he could have changed what happened. Morse’s eyes haunted him--full of fear and pain. Morse’s blood haunted him--too much blood. But more than anything, he was haunted by his own reticence. He should have taken Morse in his arms before they left the car. He should have kissed him.

Sirens filled the air--blessed sirens--as several cars flooded the yard. An ambulance too-- _bless Thursday._ His superior was out of the car almost before it stopped, striding towards Jakes with a face full of thunder. Were it any other officer held hostage in that factory, Jakes would have cowered before Thursday’s wrath. But it was Morse. _His Morse._

“What happened?” Thursday barked.

Jakes told him. It was a far more succinct, composed version than he had relayed on the radio. He’d had time to reel in his emotions, enough for a level of clarity in his communication. The last thing he wanted--no, the last thing he needed--was to be pulled off of this for being “too close”. He needed to be looking for Morse. He needed to find him. He needed to touch him, make sure he was alive, make sure he was alright.

Thursday nodded, concern bleeding into his rage. “Who’s this Bertelli? What’s he want with Morse?”

The first question was easy enough to answer. “Mitchel Bertelli, he was my last collar before I made Sergeant. Well, he was the collar that made me a Sergeant. I found the link between him and a series of killings. Revenge killings, all of them. He swore he’d make me pay.” Jakes hadn’t taken him seriously. He was young, cocksure, with nothing to lose. Hell, in those days, he wouldn’t really have minded had Bertelli come after him. It wouldn’t have mattered, he hadn’t cared enough about himself then. Morse had changed that, given him something to live for. Someone had to look after the man. Morse had given him faith in himself, too. God, Morse. He shuddered, closing his eyes against a wave of fear. 

“Jakes?” Thursday’s voice was gentle. He laid his hand on Jakes’ shoulder, grounding him. “Why did he take Morse?”

 _Because I was an idiot. Because I let him see how much I cared. Because I showed him I could lose something far more precious than my own life._ But he couldn’t say that. 

“I think Morse caught him trying to shoot me in the back.” Jakes couldn’t control the shake in his own voice. When had he lost so much control of his own emotions? “He….it looked like he pistol-whipped Morse, and then shot him.” Thursday paled. “I ran over, tried to stop him. I think….I think he decided he’d rather make me pay….by blaming me for….for Morse’s….” He couldn’t, wouldn’t say ‘death’. “.... for his injuries.”

“How bad?” Thursday demanded, voice harsh with concern.

“Bertelli shot him in the shoulder, and he had a head wound.” Jakes swallowed, looking towards the building. “He threatened to….to use his gun against Morse if I tried anything. Not….not to kill him. Not yet.” He turned back to Thursday, needing someone to share in his horror. “He doesn’t care, sir. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies. He just wants to hurt me. Told me he was playing hide and seek.”

Thursday closed his eyes briefly. “Then we have to find them.” 

Thursday turned on his heel and began issuing orders. Search the building. Do not engage the suspect. Take the shot if it was clear. _Do not endanger Constable Morse._ Jakes sagged against the car, grateful for once to not be in charge. He let Thursday’s calm voice wash over him. _Hang on, Morse._

The sound of breaking glass startled all of them. Jakes spun around, eyes searching the building for the source. He found it in a familiar--but bloodstained--jacket fluttering from a broken window. The jacket was tossed out, floating slowly to the ground. _Cold,_ Jakes thought. _It’s too cold!_

Morse’s pale face appeared in the window, Bertelli’s grin hovering behind him. Morse’s white shirt was soaked in blood, and Jakes could see the tug of his collar against his throat. Bertelli’s gun was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a glinting knife pressed to Morse’s throat. Jakes heaved himself off the car, fear coursing through his veins. Morse.

“Well, well, the gang’s all here, eh?” Bertelli taunted. “You’d better hurry up. This one’s got a touch of shock, haven’t you, Morse.” He shoved Morse forward a bit, knife digging into Morse’s pale throat. Jakes felt a surge of anger as a thin trickle of blood appeared. _He_ was the only one allowed to caress that throat. Morse stumbled against the window, eyes closing momentarily. Jakes held his breath until they opened again. “Come and get your boy, Peter!” They both vanished from the window. 

Jakes let his head fall into his hands, eyes closed against his fear. When he looked up again, Thursday was in front of him, a gun in his hands and his face set in a mask of anger. He offered the gun to Jakes.

“Find them. And put him down.” He spun on his heel and headed towards the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This keeps getting longerrrrr. It was supposed to take 2 days to finish. Whoops.


	4. You Should Be With Me Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every second matters. He can't let Morse die. He _won't_ let Morse die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short. My apologies. But...comfort coming soon!

Every second mattered. Jakes could feel the minutes dripping like Morse’s blood through his fingers. The biting cold tore at his face as he pictured Morse shivering, clutched in the arms of a madman. Morse belonged in _his_ arms. God, would he ever get to hold Morse again? Would he ever get to see those beautiful eyes full of contentment and not fear? He had to, _he had to._ Jakes tightened his grip on his gun and crept through the next doorway.

A sudden yelp made him stop cold. _Morse._

“Getting closer, Peter,” Bertelli’s voice floated through the unforgiving steel beams. They were up ahead. _Close, he was so close._ “You might want to hurry though, if you wanted to say goodbye.”

_No._ It wouldn’t be goodbye. He would save Morse--even if it killed him. He crept forward, trying to see through the gloom.

“Peter! Run!” Morse’s hoarse cry stopped him in his tracks. God, did the man honestly think he would just leave him? Jakes closed his eyes momentarily. They were going to have a talk when this was over. 

A dull thud echoed through the air, followed by an angry shout from Bertelli: “Shut up, you.” The whimper that followed broke Jakes’ resolve and he charged. His footsteps reverberated through the empty factory; he knew Bertelli could hear him coming. But so could Morse, and that was all that mattered to Jakes now. That Morse knew he was coming. _Hang on, Morse._

He skidded to a stop inside the room. Bertelli was backed against the wall, holding Morse up by his shirt collar. An ugly red welt stretched across Morse’s chest, and the knife at his throat was stained the same shade of red. Morse’s eyes were closed, slight tremors wracking his body.

“Morse--” Jakes whispered. He nearly collapsed in relief when Morse’s eyes opened to meet his. Fear, they were full of fear. And pain. _Morse, oh my Morse._ “What have you done to him?” Jakes refused to look at Bertelli, eyes remaining fixed on Morse’s, willing Morse to be okay.

“Oh, not nearly enough, I’m afraid,” Bertelli sneered, twisting Morse’s collar again. Morse didn’t even flinch. “But I’m running out of time, I believe. He’s rather a weak little thing, isn’t he?” Bertelli pulled the knife from Morse’s throat and stroked the side of his face. 

Jakes lunged-- _no one_ touched Morse but him. 

Bertelli had underestimated Jakes’ instincts to protect his love, and staggered backwards into the wall. The knife slipped, slicing across Morse’s face. Bertelli dropped the knife and shoved Morse to the side, groping wildly for his gun. He’d intended to kill Morse in front of Jakes, but he would settle for killing Jakes. 

Morse fell to the ground with a sharp cry as his injured shoulder crashed into the ground. Jakes crashed a fist into Bertelli’s face, and slid himself between the madman and Morse. He’d be damned if he let Bertelli get his hands on Morse again. Bertelli staggered backwards, stepping a bit to the side and bringing his gun up to point at Jakes. They stood, panting, each with a weapon trained on the other. Neither moved. 

Bertelli had a decision to make. He had known from the beginning of this mad plan that he wasn’t going to make it out alive. He didn’t care. He only wanted revenge on Peter Jakes for the way his life had crumbled. That weak little shit that Peter seemed to consider so highly was probably going to die soon, so it just depended on whether or not he was going to let Jakes live with the knowledge that his actions had killed the man. Why not, he decided. What better pain than to live without someone you loved? 

“We come to the end, Peter. I leave you with your memories. You signed his death warrant the day you crossed me.” He flicked his gun to the side, moving his finger to the trigger.

A single gunshot sounded in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had no idea how this chapter was going to go when I started. Jakes just kind of took matters into his own hands. Sorry (not sorry) for the cliffhanger. *grins evilly* I'll make it up to you soon.
> 
> Oh, and I keep forgetting to mention that the title is from Shawn Mendes' "Treat You Better". It came on the radio when I was plotting this, and I just pictured Jakes singing it to Morse and it was rather a lovely picture.


	5. I Won't Let You Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes will stop at nothing to get his Morse back. But what about Morse?
> 
> (Minor Warning: this chapter contains Morse's perspective on his injuries, so it's a teensy bit more graphic. Not much, but I try to be wary of triggers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, Morse suddenly grabbed hold of my hand and demanded that I tell _his_ side of the story. So....here it is?

Morse knew he was going to die. He’d known even before he’d launched himself at the stranger pointing a gun at his Jakes. It didn’t matter, he didn’t even think about his own safety. Morse had just flung himself towards the man, shouting a warning to Jakes. When the man’s gun connected with his head, Morse accepted the pain that blossomed. _Peter was safe, Peter was safe._ The loud report of the gun startled him--panic setting in--until he felt the searing pain in his own shoulder. _Peter was safe._

He didn’t expect to wake up. Especially not by being yanked into a sitting position, staring at the pale, frightened face of Peter Jakes. He’d never seen Peter look like that, not even at Blenheim Vale. Peter looked terrified, as if someone had threatened his entire world. Morse looked around, trying to find what had frightened Jakes. A voice in his ear startled him, and he felt the cold metal of a gun press into him. He stilled, listening. Words filtered in and out of Morse’s conscious brain, and he struggled to piece them together into something coherent.

 _Him?_ Peter was worried about him? This man….knew Peter. Wanted revenge? Peter was frightened, Peter was begging. Peter didn’t beg…

“Peter…” speaking took far more effort that Morse expected. Peter had to run, he had to get away. _Peter had to be safe._ “Don’t. I’m….alright. Just---” _Just run, just get away,_ he wanted to say, but a sharp pain in his shoulder cut him off. He closed his eyes against the pain. The gun moved to his side, and he felt the rumble of his assailant’s voice against his back. _Peter._ Morse forced his eyes open, seeking out Peter. His eyes were wide, filled with terror.

“Morse….” he whispered. 

Morse wanted to reply, to tell Peter it was okay, he was okay. He’d done this for Peter, _just run._ But he felt the pressure around his throat increase suddenly. He tried to breathe; he couldn’t breathe.

Peter was begging again. Offering to take his place. _Peter, no!_ Morse wasn’t sure if he got the words out or not, everything was starting to go dark. Suddenly he could breathe, but the abrupt arrival of oxygen overwhelmed him for a moment. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled to his feet and hauled backwards. Away from Peter. _Peter was safe._ But then Peter tried to follow them, his face twisted and white. _Peter, run!_

A sharp pain shot through Morse as the man--Bertelli?--yanked his injured arm backwards. Darkness threatened to overtake him, but he forced himself to meet Jakes’ eyes. _Be safe, Peter._

“I’m coming, Morse. I’m coming for you.” _No, Peter. Run._ “Hang on, Morse. I’m coming. I promise.”

Morse stared into those dark eyes, his favorite eyes, until the door closed between them. _Be safe, Peter. I love you._

* * *

Morse didn’t bother to fight his captor as the man hauled him through the darkened factory. As long as it kept the man away from Peter. Besides, he was finding it hard to breathe and even harder to keep his feet steady. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d been pulled from Peter’s gaze, hauled through darkness and frigid air. But suddenly he found himself flung to the floor, landing in a heap against a wall. He let himself rest against the sturdy surface, grateful to breathe and grateful to rest. Rough hands assaulted him suddenly, yanking roughly at his jacket. Panic suddenly surged through him, what did this man want? He tried to fight back, and got a sharp slap across his face. 

“None of that, now!” 

His jacket gone, Morse shivered violently. He’d been freezing before, but it felt as if someone had suddenly plunged him into an ice cold bucket of water. The pressure was back at his throat and he felt himself hauled to his feet. Glass shattered in front of him, and he felt an icy breeze stab into him at the same time that a knife pricked his throat. 

“Look, it seems as if you’ve got _friends,_ ” Bertelli sneered. 

Morse’s eyes flew opened. _Peter! Was Peter safe?_ His eyes searched the tiny figures rushing about below him, immediately moving on from every uniform and searching every suit until he found Peter. _Peter was safe._ A slight smile worked its way across his face as he recognized Thursday standing next to Peter. _Thursday will keep Peter safe._

Bertelli was shouting something, his words stabbing over and over into Morse’s pounding head. He was shoved forward then, and he shuddered as a warm trickle of blood slid down his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to pretend the sensation was Peter. Peter loved to run his long fingers up and down Morse’s sensitive neck. _Peter was safe._ He might never feel Peter’s hands on him again, but Peter was safe.

* * *

Time passed, full of fear and cold and pain and his constant refrain: _Peter was safe._ Morse had never cared what happened to himself. He was sorry to leave Peter behind, certainly. But Peter would be okay. He would find someone else; maybe someone he could even show off, take out dancing. Peter looked so lovely in a suit, and Morse wished that Peter could have someone at his side to highlight his long, lean form. If Morse had to die, he was willing to die to save Peter.

A sudden slashing pain startled him out of his dreams, and he cried out as he felt warm blood on his chest. Bertelli was shouting again, taunting Peter. _Peter was in danger._

Morse gathered all of his strength, all of his concern, all of his love and urged Peter to run. Bertelli’s boot connected with his ribs and he curled into himself. Pounding footsteps mixed with the pounding in his head as he was hauled to his feet. _Can’t breathe._

Silence. Morse opened his eyes, only to see Jakes standing in front of him. _Peter was in danger._ Fear mixed with pain as he stared at his Peter. _Peter, run! Please!_ Bertelli and Peter were talking, but Peter wouldn’t look away from Morse. _Peter._

Morse felt his resolve fading. He couldn’t protect Peter, not anymore. He was too weak. He felt himself slipping from reality as a cold hand slid along his face. _Not Peter. Not Peter, never again._ He heard a shout of anger and felt himself falling, falling into the floor. He collapsed on his shoulder, pain nearly overwhelming him. Peter was in front of him, Bertelli had his gun trained on Peter, _Peter was in danger._

Morse knew he was going to die. He saw the shift in Bertelli’s eyes, heard the conviction in his voice. Bertelli was going to kill Morse, and the Peter would kill Bertelli. _Peter will be safe._

Morse smiled when the gun went off. _Peter was safe_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, I promise, comfort coming next. Morse was insistent.


	6. I'd Stop Time for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Jakes wants is to hold Morse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me hard. I think I rather exhausted my creative skills today....

Bertelli had made one single mistake. He had threatened the only thing in the world that Peter Jakes gave a damn about. He had touched the only thing that Peter cared about. Some coppers might have hesitated, willing to give the man a chance to surrender, but Peter Jakes didn’t. He saw the moment Bertelli’s eyes snapped to Morse, and he fired before Bertelli even had his finger on the trigger.

Bertelli staggered back against the wall, shock flashing across his features for only a moment before he collapsed on the ground. Jakes paused a moment, breathing heavily. Then he fired twice more in anger--the man had dared to harm his Morse--and once more to complete the pre-arranged code: three shots means you found him. Shaking, Jakes lowered his gun. The man was dead. He couldn’t hurt Morse again. Jakes kicked Bertelli’s gun away, and then he was dropping his own gun, tugging his coat off, dropping down beside Morse.

_Morse, his Morse._

“Dev, I’ve got you...It’s alright, Dev...I’m here, I’m here-- god, Dev, come back to me--” His hands were everywhere at once, covering Morse with Jakes’ warm wool coat, pulling that slim body into his arms, checking Morse’s injuries. He rocked back against the wall, cradling Morse in his arms and resting his head on Jakes’ shoulder. Jakes curled his arm protectively around Morse’s injured shoulder and tugged the coat up closer to Morse’s neck. He pulled Morse even tighter to him and dropped his head to Morse’s, burying his face into the younger man’s auburn curls. Jakes drew in several deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart and trying to breath in as much of Morse as he could. After a long minute, he moved to press a kiss to that cold forehead. 

Cold. Too cold. Cold as marble. Cold as....

Jakes’ hands fumbled with Morse’s collar as he searched for a pulse. 

Nothing.

Jakes’ tried to steady his hands, and searched again. He held his breath, praying to a God he never had believed in. He sucked in a grateful breath as he finally felt Morse’s heart, weak and rapid but beating, still beating.

“Dev…” Jakes whispered the name, eyes searching Morse’s face. He brought his right hand up to run lightly through Morse’s curls. His finger lightly traced the red line that curved over Morse’s cheekbone. It wasn’t deep, thank God, and wouldn’t likely scar. Not that it mattered to Jakes. Morse was alive, and in his arms; that was what mattered. Jakes pressed a light kiss to the wound and let his lips linger, grateful just to hold Morse.

He found the nick on Morse’s throat next, fingers of his left hand clenching into a fist as his right thumb stroked over the offending mark. He ran one shaking finger along the bruises starting to form where Bertelli had twisted Morse’s collar. So close. He had come so close to losing Morse. Jakes closed his eyes and took another shuddering breath, tightening his hold on Morse once again. He was never, never, letting go.

The shallow rhythm of Morse’s breathing changed suddenly, and Jakes felt him tense. Jakes’ eyes flew open in panic searching Morse’s face. He didn’t even try to hide the relief on his face when he saw Morse’s beautiful eyes staring back at him. 

“Peter?” Morse whispered. His eyes searched Jakes’ face, unfocused, and his breathing speeding up. Morse shifted, trying to disentangle his arm from Jakes’ coat. 

“Dev, I’ve got you. You’re alright.” Jakes reached under the coat, grabbing Morse’s hand in a grip that was probably too tight. He didn’t care. Morse was alright. Morse was alive, and Morse was awake.

“Peter?” Morse swallowed, grimacing at his bruised throat. “Peter...safe?” His eyes were wide, panicked, and his hand closed around Peter’s fingers in a grip that was far too weak.

“You’re safe, Dev. You’re alright,” Jakes whispered.

Morse shook his head, stubbornly. “No. You...safe….you’re safe?” Morse’s eyes raked over Jakes’ face and torso. God, the man was worried about him.

Jakes huffed softly, allowing himself a fond smile. “I’m fine. I’m safe. You’re safe. Bertelli’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.” _No one will hurt you again._

Morse’s eyes searched the ceiling, and then his head lolled to the side, searching for proof of Jakes’ words. He froze when he caught sight of the body, and started gasping. _Damn, the blood._

Jakes let go of Morse’s hand and brought it up to cradle Morse’s face. Gently, he pulled Morse back to him. “Hey, Dev. Look at me.” 

Slowly, Morse obeyed, a weary smile coming over his face as he finally met Jakes’s eyes. He relaxed back into Jakes’ arms, breaths evening out. Jakes closed his eyes for a moment. God, he’d been afraid he’d never get to hold the man again. Morse’s hoarse whisper got his attention again. “Peter.” Morse was staring at him with that stupid, wonderful smile of his. The one most people never got to see. The one Jakes loved.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Jakes had leaned over and captured Morse’s chapped lips in a kiss. He just needed to feel Morse, to touch him, to hold him. Weakly, Morse kissed him back. Jakes pulled his head away, smiling at Morse’s frustrated huff. 

“Hey, save your strength, Dev. We’ve got time.” We’ve got time...thank God it was true. Jakes let his fingers wander over Morse’s face, brushing through Morse’s hair and tracing over his ear. “God, Dev. I thought I lost you.”

Morse closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into Jakes’ touch. “Kept you...safe.” He whispered. “Had....had to stop...him.” Morse’s eyes fluttered open again. “You’re safe.” 

“You idiot,” Jakes’ muttered tenderly, running his thumb along Morse’s jaw. “I’ve been worried about you.”

Morse smiled weakly. “I’m...fine.”

Jakes let himself laugh at that; nearly killed by a maniac, and all he could do was worry about everyone else and insist he was fine. Morse turned his face into Jakes hand, encouraging him to keep stroking Morse’s face. Jakes obliged, grateful for the chance to reassure himself that Morse was right here....safe.

“Gonna...miss your hands.” Morse murmured. “Soft.” 

Jakes stilled. “Dev? I’m--I’m not going anywhere.”

Morse’s eyes fluttered open; they were unfocused again. “Saved you. Wanted to know...you were safe.”

Jakes tried to ignore the cold fingers that started to wrap around his heart. “Dev, I’m safe. So are you. It’s all over now.” He heard the sounds of men shouting, and footsteps on the stairs. “Here that? Thursday’s bringing the medics up, okay? They’ll be here soon.”

Morse met his eyes. “I love you, Peter.” _Why did it sound like a goodbye?_

“Dev….Dev what’s wrong?”

Cold fingers on his cheek startled him. Morse had freed his hand from under Jakes’ coat, and was running his fingers along Jakes’ face. “Be happy, Peter....find someone....be happy.” Morse’s hand fell away limply. 

“Dev! Dev, stop that. I have found someone, you-- Dev...stay with me! Dev! _Endeavour!_ ”

But Morse was fading, eyes closing as if in sleep, body going limp in his arms. Jakes was shouting then, shouting Morse’s name, begging him to come back. His fingers searched for a pulse, for a breath, for any sign of life. And then strong hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away while white-gloved hands tried to take Morse away from him. He fought, trying to keep a hold on Morse. _I’ll never let go! Never! Give him back to me! Please! Give him back!_

“Easy, Sergeant, easy.” Thursday’s voice came, low and strained. “Let them have him. They’re his best chance.”

Jakes collapsed back against Thursday, eyes fixed on Morse’s unmoving form, oblivious to the commotion around him. 

_Give him back to me...please!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!!!! I didn't mean for it to end like that, but Morse is just having a rough day.
> 
> Also, I'm not super happy with this chapter, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm tired, or if it's because the chapter is a bit rough. Let me know, and I will rework it if it needs tweaking. I wanted to get something out to you guys, you're comments have been THE BEST.
> 
> Thanks for all of your words of encouragement! I promise, cuddles are coming!


	7. Wrong Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They got him back. _They got him back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super short, but I wanted you all to know I didn't forget about you. Long day on my end, but I've been thinking about this fic _all day long_.  
> (Very mild allusions to homophobia in this chapter. Just FYI)

When the first gunshot shattered the eerie stillness, Thursday froze. A single gunshot could mean anything, and Thursday didn’t want to consider most of those possibilities. He waited by the cars, hardly daring to breathe. He’d remained down below since the start of the search, thought it had killed him. Someone had to direct the search, remain in control, and send the medics where they were needed. The inaction grated on his old coppers’ sensibilities, leaving him stranded with his own fears. His mind had conjured up far too many endings for this Christmas Eve that involved him burying another bagman--no, burying a _son_.

The three rapid shots that followed galvanized every copper on sight into action. The evening erupted into shouts and directions, men running towards the sounds of the shot--somewhere on the second floor, near the back of the building. The medics were moving almost before the final shot sounded, spurred on by Thursday’s furious roar.

 _Morse, they found Morse._ Thursday refused to think about what that first shot had meant. He just had to get to Morse.

* * *

Fear gave his old body a speed he never thought possible, and Thursday found himself at the top of the stairs only a few steps behind the medics. He could see movement in the room at the end of the corridor. Movement was good, movement meant life.

But then he heard shouting--a voice filled with terror and pain. “ _Endeavour!_ ” 

Jakes--it was Jakes.

Thursday barreled into the room, assessing the scattered bodies at a glance. Bertelli, dead. Good. Morse-- _too pale, too still._ And Jakes--- _why did Jakes look like that?_ \--Jakes was fighting the medics, trying to keep Morse in his arms, sobbing incoherently. 

His own heart breaking, Thursday reached out to pull Jakes back. “Easy, Sergeant, easy. They’re his best chance now.” His voice broke on the last word and he swallowed hard. Jakes fell backwards, against Thursday’s legs, and sagged to the floor. Thursday dropped down next to him, pretending to steady the younger man; in truth, his own legs refused to support him any longer. He let one hand rest on Jakes’ shoulders, and together they watched as the medics tried frantically to bring Morse back.

* * *

Jakes wasn’t sure how long he sat there on that frigid concrete floor, trying to breathe. It would be a long time before the smell of mold, dust, and snow failed to spark fear in his soul. He knew Thursday was behind him, knew Thursday had seen him holding Morse, knew Thursday had probably guessed. He didn’t care. They could fire him, exile him, throw him in jail-- he just wanted his Morse back. 

Suddenly Morse convulsed under the medics. Men started shouting, and within seconds, Morse was on a stretcher and they were carrying him away--away from Jakes. _Where were they taking him? Bring him back!_ Jakes lunged forwards with a hoarse cry, but Thursday’s strong hands pulled him back.

“You’ll only slow them down, lad. Let them take him, they’ll take good care of him.” Then, as a whisper Jakes wasn’t sure he was meant to hear: “They got him back. _They got him back._ ” Thursday stood slowly, turning to help Jakes up from the ground.

Jakes stared blankly over Thursday’s shoulder. What did he do now? Where did he go? _Where did they take Morse?_ Uniforms milled around, picking up the guns and assessing Bertelli, but Jakes took no notice of them. He moved to rub his hand over his face, but paused, horror-stricken when he realized his hands were covered in Morse’s blood. God. He started shaking.

“Jakes,” Thursday’s voice was low, hand warm on his shoulder.

Jakes dragged his eyes up to meet Thursday’s. “Sir?” 

Thursday gave him a long, assessing look, eyes narrowed suspiciously. After what felt like too long, he took a deep breath and nodded sharply. Whatever he was searching for in Jakes’ face, he must have found it. “Right, hospital.” He turned on his heel, his hand moving to Jakes’ elbow. Jakes let Thursday pilot him down the stairs and through the milling coppers. 

When Thursday paused to give directions, Jakes let his eyes drift down the lane, following the melancholy sound of the ambulance siren as it carried his Morse away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, apparently the last chapter was received better than my tired brain thought it would be. :) Thanks for the encouragement!
> 
> Thanks for all of your comments, folks. I can't tell you how happy I am that you all are so excited about something that I wrote!!


	8. You Don't Have to Do This Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas presents.  
> Alternatively, Fred Thursday loves and protects his sons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Just. Won't. End.  
> 

_Morse is still alive,_ Jakes told himself as Thursday raced through the streets, the car’s klaxon clearing their path. He prayed it wasn’t a lie. The ambulance had taken Morse to the Radcliffe, or at least that’s what one of the PCs had reported. Jakes had barely paid attention, grateful for Thursday’s firm hand that steered him to the car. His eyes remained fixed on his blood-stained hands throughout their mad dash. 

_They took Morse away from me._ Just when he thought he’d won-- that he’d saved Morse, that he could hold his Morse and soothe his injuries--fate had intervened and tore Morse from his grasp. And now he didn’t know---he didn’t know anything.

Thursday pulled up to the entrance to the Radcliffe, slamming the car into park and shutting off the engine. Then he turned to Jakes, and took a deep breath. Jakes knew what was coming, what the question would be. Are you and Morse…? And he knew what he _should_ say, to protect himself. But he also knew what he had to say.

“Sergeant…” Thursday’s voice trailed off as Jakes looked up at him. He pressed his lips into a thin line and started again. “Sergeant Jakes, what are your intentions with Endeavour Morse?”

Jakes blinked. That was not the question he expected. “Sir?”

“I need to know, Sergeant. I can’t, and won’t, cover for you if this is just one of your flights of fancy.” Thursday’s voice was sandpaper rough.

Morse...just-- _just?!_ \--a fancy? _God, no._ “Sir, he’s....I can’t...I…” Jakes gave up with a sob, eyes returning to Morse’s blood on his hands. He struggled to calm his breathing. “He’s never been anything less than everything.” It was a whisper, a pledge, a fact. If they took Morse from him today, he would have nothing. 

A strong, steady hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up to meet Thursday’s judgement. Instead, he found understanding in Thursday’s dark eyes. “Good.” And then he was gone, out of the car, waiting for Jakes to follow him into the hospital.

To find Morse.

* * *

_Morse is still alive._

“Constable Morse is in surgery,” they were told. “Would you like a cup of tea?” As if tea could erase Jakes’ memories of Morse lying on the ground beneath Bertelli’s gun. As if tea could make up for words unsaid, promises unfulfilled. As if tea could take the place of actually touching Morse again.

They sat side-by-side, each lost in their own thoughts. Jakes had managed to compose himself somewhat, drawing his natural aloofness about him like a suit of armor. He’d been to the loo at least three times, trying to wash the stains from his hands. He’d lost count of how many cigarettes he went through, vainly attempting to calm his racing heart.

Finally, finally, a nurse came to call Thursday. Jakes clutched at his chair, knuckles going white in the effort to stay seated. He had no rights here. He was just a bloody colleague. Thursday was Morse’s DI, the nurse would talk to him. Jakes cursed quietly. In what crazy world did the injured man’s _boss_ have more rights than the man’s bloody _partner_. 

The soft tapping of Thursday’s shoes caught Jakes’ attention. “He’s out of surgery, Jakes. He’s still with us.” The words were soft, quiet, and filled with emotion. Jakes closed his eyes, relief making him dizzy. “They said we can go see him.”

Jakes’ eyes snapped open. “We?”

“They can’t stop his brother from visiting, now can they?” Thursday’s eyes twinkled faintly in his haggard face.

“ _Brother?!_ ” Jakes sputtered.

“Well, half-brother. Coloring’s off.” Thursday glanced down at his shoes. “You two are quite close, rather affectionate siblings. Would do him good to have you around, help him along. Nurse understood.” 

_Bless Thursday._ “Thank you....thank you, sir.” 

“Come along, then.” Thursday spun around, leaving Jakes to get up alone; he needed the moment. 

Thursday knew...and Thursday had given his blessing. More than that, Thursday had been willing to give Jakes a reason to see Morse. _Bless Thursday._ Jakes hurried down the hall.

* * *

_Morse is still alive,_ Jakes reminded himself as he stared at the too-still form laid out in the hospital bed. 

He barely looked it, face and hands nearly blending in with the while sheets. His freckles--those lovely freckles-- stood out starkly against his skin, matching the rich auburn of his hair. He looked so wrong. His long fingers lying still instead of twirling a pencil or reaching for Jakes’ hand. His feet at rest instead of tapping along to some operatic tune playing in his head. His face blank instead of betraying his biting scorn or brilliant passion. And worst of all, his stunning eyes closed to the world. Those eyes could see into Jakes’ soul, soothe his torment, and turn him to putty with one look.

They stood there for what seemed like hours, watching and waiting--maybe even praying--for any sign of life from Morse. The nurses and doctors seemed convinced that everything was fine. They said Morse was stable, that he was alive and healing. “He just needs his rest, dear.” But they didn’t know him. They didn’t know how horrifying that blank, still form was. 

Jakes was at least grateful that the hospital staff just skirted around them, not trying to force the two weary detectives out of the room Thursday had his warrant card and rank on his side, and Jakes had the comforting lie of familial ties. They wouldn’t be thrown out. Still, Jakes almost wished Thursday would go. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the chair next to Morse’s side and hold that pale hand until Morse came back to him.

 _Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…_ The words of a familiar hymn floated into the room, suddenly reminding both men that it was Christmas Eve. Thursday stirred, glancing to the clock on the wall. A muffled curse escaped his lips as he registered the time. 

“I’ve got to call Win, she’ll be worried sick!”

“Sir, it’s...it’s Christmas Eve. You should be home with your family,” Jakes ventured.

Thursday rounded on him, exhaustion shortening his temper. “And leave him here? Alone?” The shock on Jakes’ face must have registered, because Thursday immediately looked ashamed. A slight smile ghosted across his face. “But he wouldn’t be alone, would he?”

It took some doing, and a phone call to a concerned Win, but Thursday finally agreed to leave the hospital. Jakes promised to phone him if-- _when_ \-- Morse woke up. Thursday sternly reminded the nurses and the doctors that Constable Morse’s favorite half brother was not to be forced out. Morse would heal much faster if he had family at his side. Jakes was too exhausted to do much more than look his gratitude. He would find the words later. Once Morse came back.

Finally everyone left. The nurses had looked in one last time, adjusting the IV that slowly dripped life back into Morse. One rather motherly nurse brought Jakes a cup of tea and a blanket, patting his hand and telling him not to worry about his brother. 

“Sometimes people talk to them, you know. Just real quiet-like. They say they can hear you, poor dears.” She paused, smoothing Morse’s blanket. “It mightn’t hurt to hold his hand. The Inspector said you two were close. He’d know you were near.” She smiled at him as she left, closing the door part way.

On any other day, Jakes might have hesitated. Today, this Christmas Eve, he didn’t care. He reached out and pressed Morse's hand between both of his own. This time, he wasn’t letting go.

And two hours later, as church bells around Oxford announced the arrival of Christmas day, Detective Sergeant Peter Jakes got his Christmas wish: Dev squeezed back. 

_Morse was alive!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to fill in all these little details before I can get to the delightful comfort and cuddle scenes. Sometimes, I really hate hospitals though. Like, I just want Jakes to cuddle his Morse and not worry about stupid homophobia. So I made Thursday do my bidding for me.
> 
> Also, is Jakes too OOC? I never expected to write Jakes, like ever, and I got carried away. I know he's not usually emotional, but I feel like there's a lot going on under the surface. Is it too much or am I just tired again? I really shouldn't write this close to midnight...
> 
> I have at least two solid chapters of comfort coming, probably a little more. I need to balance out all of the pain I caused....Feel free to comment (read: PLEASE COMMENT) if there's any particular interactions/prompts/phrases you'd like to see. I would love some comfort/cuddle prompts. And I owe you guys for how long this is becoming... I'll be back in about 20 hours with another update!


	9. Take my Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh so I definitely almost cried writing this. Whoops.

Jakes startled awake, flying out of his chair as he felt Dev’s cold fingers tighten around his own. 

“Dev?” he whispered breathlessly. Morse’s chest expanded deeply and his eyes fluttered for a moment. _Please, Dev, come back to me._

And then those beautiful pale blue eyes that Jakes adored finally opened. Jakes’ legs gave out and he collapsed onto the bed next to Morse, still clutching that cold hand. Morse’s eyes roamed the ceiling for a moment, finally coming to rest on Jakes’ face. 

“Peter?” It was barely a whisper, lacking all of Morse’s usual depth, but to Jakes, it was the loveliest sound. _He came back to me._

“It’s alright, Dev. You’re safe… _I’m safe,_ ” he added, as an afterthought. 

Morse blinked, staring at Jakes as if seeing a ghost. “I’m...alive?” His eyes traveled slowly around the unfriendly white room, noting the machines next to him and the dimmed lights. “Hospital?”

Jakes nodded. He longed to reach out and touch his Morse, trace freckles with his fingers and smooth soft curls back from that bandaged forehead. But Morse’s confusion stalled his movements; the man had nearly died and Jakes’ didn’t want to rush him. 

Morse turned his face back towards Jakes. There were tears in his eyes.

“Dev? What’s wrong?” Jakes searched Morse’s face and body, trying to find the source of his distress.

“I thought…I thought I would never...see you...again,” Morse’s thin frame shuddered as he took in a deep breath. Jakes felt Morse’s hand shift in his own, pale fingers lacing through Jakes’. Those impossibly blue eyes traveled down to stare at their joined hands. “I thought...I’d never get to...touch you....again.” 

Jakes reached his free hand up to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall. “Oh, Dev.” For a moment, he couldn’t speak, so he let his hand card through Morse’s curls instead. “I thought I had lost you,” he finally whispered. 

“Peter.” Jakes met Morse’s eyes. “Still here.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of Morse’s lips. “Still here, with you.”

Jakes gave up. He’d spent too many hours with his fears and too many minutes counting the times he should have kissed Morse. He pressed his free hand to the side of Morse’s face, and bent down to cover Morse’s lips with his own. Morse returned the kiss weakly. His lips were warm, not cold; _thank God_. Jakes finally pulled back, but only far enough to allow Morse room to breathe; he kept their foreheads pressed together. Had a nurse walked in at that moment, Jakes would be hard pressed to come up with a logical explanation for the way he was draped over Morse. He didn't care. He just wanted to hold Morse as tightly as possible, for as long as he could.

They stayed like that for several minutes, each man clinging to the other as a lifeline. Both convinced that if they let go-- even for a second-- the other would vanish into a haze of exhaustion and pain. They each replayed the fragmented images and emotions from that day, trying and failing to make any sense out of the swirling memories. Finally Jakes pulled back with a sigh. Morse needed to rest, and Jakes was finding it hard to keep his own eyes open. 

Morse whimpered at the loss of contact, and Jakes quickly brought his hand up to his love’s face again. “Shhh, Dev, it’s alright.” He ran his thumb over Morse’s uninjured cheek. “It’s alright. I’m right here, okay?”

“Peter,” Morse sighed, turning his face into the other man’s hand. “Don’t go…please.”

_As if he would._ “Hey, Dev, look at me.” Morse slowly turned his face towards Jakes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. I promise.”

The smile that Morse gave him nearly broke his heart. It was one of grateful surprise, as if Morse had actually expected Peter to leave him. God, did the man actually think Jakes cared so little for him? They were definitely having a talk about Morse’s low expectations. 

“Thank you,” Morse rasped. And he actually looked grateful, damn him. 

“Endeavour.” Jakes couldn’t let this go on. Morse’s eyes widened slightly at Jakes’ tone. “You don’t seem to get it. _I love you._ I’m not leaving you, not to save my own skin, not for someone else, not for anything. You, Dev. You are all I want. God, Dev, I thought you were dead.” Jakes’ hand rested on Morse’s uninjured shoulder. He shook his head, too exhausted to find any more words. “Sleep, Dev. But for god’s sake, Dev. Please-- know that I love you.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to Morse’s forehead. When he pulled back up, Morse’s blue eyes were wide with surprise. _Didn’t the man know this already?_ Jakes sighed. He ran his hand over Morse’s curls again. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Why?”

One little word, how could one little word hold so much hurt? For all that Jakes’ own life had been full of darkness, tragedy, and scars, somehow he’d found love along the way. It had come in bits and pieces, not all at once and not always for long. But he had found love in Endeavour Morse, and he knew himself to be loved. Dev, however, never seemed to be able to trust in the love that Jakes was so willing to give him. He always pulled back, as if Jakes was offering his affections out of pity or as a mockery of Morse. Jakes had often felt that Morse considered himself unlovable, but it broke his heart watching Morse confirm that fear. Morse, bruised and broken, somehow expected Jakes to turn around and just leave him here.

Jakes sighed. Maybe it was time to speak Morse’s own language. He reached up and combed his fingers through Morse’s hair, reciting softly:

_“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._  
_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_  
_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_  
_For the ends of being and ideal grace._  
_I love thee to the level of every day's_  
_Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight._  
_I love thee freely, as men strive for right;_  
_I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise._  
_I love with a passion put to use_  
_In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.  
_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose  
_With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,  
_Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,  
_I shall but love thee better after death.”_ ____

____

____

By the time he had finished, Morse’s eyes had closed and his body had relaxed into a natural sleep. Jakes pressed his lips to his love’s forehead one more time before turning to curl up in his own chair.

He never let go of Morse’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Jakes totally wanted to surprise Morse with a poetry quote on Christmas, so he memorized it for Morse. No idea if canon Jakes would recite poetry, but this Jakes loves his Morse and learned it for him. He would deny it utterly if anyone accused him of it.
> 
> Yeah, so we are nowhere near done. I have at least 7 more scene ideas, and given the way the rest of this has gone, they are probably each going to get a chapter. I mean, I threw a solid 8 chapters of pain out there, so I should probably balance it out, right?
> 
> Things to expect: hot chocolate, Morse being a guilty idiot, and mistletoe.
> 
> Any other requests? Seriously, I love ideas :)
> 
> Thanks for all of your support!!  
> #JarseSquad


	10. Wasted Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Morning, part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be a paragraph. I have other things I want to write. These two had other plans for me. *sigh*

Peter Jakes was dreaming. He knew it was a dream, because Morse was alive in his dream. Jakes knew Morse had died in his arms on Christmas Eve. He remembered Morse saying good-bye, he remembered Morse fading away, he remembered the look in Thursday’s eye when the medics shook their heads. Morse was dead; he wasn’t coming back. But in his dream, Jakes could feel Morse’s fingers tracing patterns on his hand and played with the buttons on his shirtsleeves. He could hear the rustle of fabric as Morse shifted in their bed.

Then Jakes could hear the bells outside, loudly proclaiming the time. He groaned, wishing they wouldn’t wake him. He didn’t want to wake in a world devoid of Endeavour Morse’s acerbic wit and cockly intelligence. Morse was the only one idiotic enough to take Jakes’ to task, and Jakes didn’t want to face a single day without Morse’s skeptical eyebrows. The fingers on his hand stopped when he stirred, as he knew they would. Dream phantoms always disappear with the morning. He’d learned that lesson early on in his life. Then, of course, he’d been glad to wake, to escape from those unwanted hands. This time, however, Jakes only wanted to stay in his dreams, with Morse.

He was awake, though. He could hear Christmas music playing faintly in the distance. Damn his neighbors. He must have fallen asleep in his chair. Probably drank himself to sleep. He sighed, unwilling to open his eyes. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, the world would pass by without him.

When warm fingers suddenly wound their way through his, his eyes flew open. Memories suddenly came back to him, clamoring for attention. Morse on a stretcher. Blood on his hands. Hospital waiting rooms. Thursday. Morse in a hospital bed. Morse too still, too pale, too cold. Morse’s eyes. Morse awake. _Morse was alive!_

If anyone at the station asked him how he had responded to (re)learning that Morse was alive, he would roll his eyes and mutter something about needing the man’s knowledge of opera for some obscure case. He would not admit that his second reaction was nearly like the first: he leapt out of his chair, planted both hands on either side of Morse’s face, and kissed the man. Quite soundly.

He only pulled back because Morse seemed to be struggling under him. 

Morse sputtered for a moment while Jakes stared at him. Jakes allowed himself a smug grin knowing he had caused the pale pink flush that stained Morse’s otherwise deathly pale face.

“Peter!” Morse finally rasped. God, he’d missed that voice. “What if a nurse would come in?”

“Damn them all,” was Jakes’ emphatic response, scowling; Morse looked shocked. Jakes relented a bit, giving him a gentle smile--his Morse smile, as he called it in his head. He rubbed his thumb over Morse’s knuckles. “I dreamed you’d died.” 

Morse’s face clouded over. “I’m sorry…”

“Dev!” Jakes cut him off with a finger to the man’s lips. “Don’t you _dare_ apologize.” He smiled again. “I got to have Christmas all over again, waking up to you holding my hand. Don’t apologize for that.”

“It’s Christmas?” Morse’s eyes widened and he struggled to sit up. “What are you still doing here, Peter? Go home, you---”

Jakes pulled his hand out of Morse’s, trying to press him back onto the bed. The last thing any of them needed was for the man to go and re-injure himself. “Dev, for God’s sake, settle down!”

Morse’s miniscule energy reserve ran out, and he flopped back onto his pillows with a frustrated huff. “Have you been here all night?” Morse searched Jakes’ body, his eyes widening at something near Jakes’ midsection. Morse reached out a pale hand, bringing it to rest on what Jake’s discovered was a rust-colored stain on his shirt. _Morse’s blood._ Morse started struggling again. “Peter! You’re hurt!”

Jakes rolled his eyes, pushing Morse back down before pressing Morse’s hand into his own. “Dev, you idiot. That’s yours.”

Morse blinked. “Mine?” His eyes traveled back to the stain, a confused frown tugging at his mouth. “Why are you still in that?”

Jakes brought his hand up to run through Morse’s curls. He’d stay in this shirt until the end of time if it meant he got the chance to hold his Morse just once more. “I thought you were dying.”

“Your shirt wasn’t going to save me.” Morse muttered, looking back up at Jakes. Jakes laughed at the expression on Morse’s face. He always looked like a petulant child when he didn’t understand something, as if the universe had wronged him personally by not explaining itself fully. God, he loved this man. Morse’s frown increased. “What?”

“Dev, I wasn’t going to just walk away to go find a fresh shirt while you were bleeding out in surgery.” 

Morse had the decency to look chastised at that. “I didn’t expect to wake up.” The words were low, and Jakes would have missed them if he hadn’t been watching Morse’s face. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t,” he replied softly. “I was afraid....I was afraid if I let go of you, that you’d vanish.” 

The gray-blue eyes that met Jake’s were full of gratitude and wonder. “Thank you,” Morse whispered.

“For what?”

“For not leaving.” Ah, so he did remember last night. “I was scared.”

Jakes continued to run his hands over Morse’s head. “Of what, love?”

“Losing you.”

Jakes hand stilled. “Me? Dev, you’re the one who got shot and dragged around a factory!”

“I was afraid he’d kill you.” Morse’s eyes sought Jakes’ again. “When he turned that gun on me, I was so glad. Glad that it wasn’t you.” Morse’s hand tightened around Jakes’. “Last night, I was afraid it had been you. That they’d gotten me out, but you were dead. I couldn’t think, but I knew you were there, as long as you had my hand.”

“Oh, my Morse,” Jakes breathed. “I’m here.” He ran his hand down the side of Morse’s face, not trusting himself to speak. Morse had been glad that Bertelli had chosen to shoot him. _God,_ they really were going to have a talk later about Morse and his self-sacrificing idiocy. But not now.

Morse’s face had lost most of its color again, and he looked as if he were having trouble keeping his eyes open. Jakes felt guilty; the man had lost almost too much blood and gained a bit too much lead. He should be resting. 

“Peter?” 

Jakes glanced down at Morse. “Hmm?”

“Last night...as I was falling asleep...did you…”

“Recite poetry?” Morse nodded. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone.” He sighed. “It was supposed to be a Christmas surprise.”

Morse’s face lit up. “Really?”

Jakes nodded. “I spent so much time taking the piss out of you early on that I felt like I should make up for it.” He sobered, willing his face to convey the sincerity he doubted his words ever could. “I meant it, too.”

Morse smiled shyly. “Could you….could you say it again? Your voice...that way I know you’re still here.”

Jakes leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Morse’s lips. “I’m here, Dev. You rest.”

  


The nurse who had tucked Jakes in last night wandered down the hallway. She wanted to check on the redheaded policeman one more time before her shift ended. She paused outside the door. The dark one was reciting a poem, voice low and full of emotion. She smiled a bit, an old memory coming back to her. That very poem had fluttered out of a book she shared with her classmate, back in school. The words had been written in lovely flowing cursive, far too delicate for the boy she was reportedly seeing. But nobody questioned her when she said he had sent it, and so no one had guessed about Edith.

The nurse backed away from the door quietly. She hadn’t really believed the two to be brothers, not the way the dark one had clutched the other's hand. But no one else needed to know. She hummed an old tune to herself as she wandered down the hall. Edith would be tickled pink when she told her over tea later about the romance in room 104.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, we still aren't near the end. Oh well. More comfort coming. If you have anything you want to see, feel free to request it. I love taking suggestions and tossing them in. Helps with writer's block. 
> 
> Oh, and, uh....my brain ran away with me yesterday so I now have two prequels planned which will detail how these two became murder boyfriends. Not sure when I'll get around to those, but they are in the planning stage. If you have anything you'd like to see in a "Jakes falls in love with Morse" and "Jakes tries to make Morse fall in love with him" story, let me know. Jakes taking the piss out of Morse with snarky poetry snippets will _definitely_ be showing up. (I blame/thank guardianofun for that)
> 
> Thanks for reading, my friends, and thanks for your support! :)


	11. Give me a Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse hates hospital tea. Thursday has a chat with his bagman (son).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this was supposed to be a single. paragraph. *sigh* The end is nowhere in sight. But, I'm having a delightful time, so I guess that's a good thing.

Thursday stood outside room 104, quietly observing the two men inside. It was going to take some getting used to, this thing between Morse and Jakes. The two were at opposite ends, and Thursday sometimes felt like he got whiplash trying to work with the two of them. Where Morse was awkward angles, Jakes was sensuous grace. While Morse would manage to insult the Creator, Jakes could probably sweet-talk the Devil. 

Somehow though, as Thursday watched Jakes steady Morse’s hands as he ate, the two of them almost made sense together. Jakes carefully sculpted his image, wearing his tailored suits like pieces of armor. They protected him from his past and ensured that his future rested firmly in his hands. Perhaps it took someone like Morse, who cared little for such posturing, to see past into the true heart of Peter Jakes.

And then, of course, there was Morse. Thursday sighed softly, taking in the dark circles under his bagman’s eyes and the way his left arm was cradled against his body. The boy didn’t show signs of ever having been loved, not really. Not since his mother died, at any rate. Morse examined every crumb of affection that was tossed his way for ulterior motives, staring at Thursday suspiciously if he offered so much as a cup of tea. If an affectionate gesture was found devoid of favors or folly, Morse savored the morsel it as if it was his last meal. Perhaps it took someone as bruised and lonely as Jakes to get past Morse’s walls. 

He’d been skeptical, at first. Jakes was known for taking every other girl out for a night on the town, before dropping her and moving on to the next. The last thing Morse needed was to be dropped-- _again_ \-- and abandoned. But Jakes’ grief in the factory had been real, Thursday read it in his eyes and his body language. And his answer in the Jag had been soft, but honest. _“He’s never been anything less than everything.”_ Thursday wondered if Morse knew that.

He shook his head. Standing out here, brooding like a father over his children--he must be getting old. Or maybe it was just the season, everyone seemed to get sentimental around Christmas. Best get in, then. He had some things to deliver for Morse from Win, and he’d best send Jakes home for a bit. It looked as if he had the same clothes on from last night. 

As he stepped closer to the door, he could see Morse staring dejectedly into a cup of something that was probably supposed to be tea. Ghastly stuff, hospital tea.

“I’d rather have something stronger,” Morse muttered, glaring at his tea before taking a sip. His lip curled.

Jakes chuckled, hand running up Morse’s good arm. “I’ll see what I can do about that, once Thursday gets here.”

Morse glanced up at Jakes then, face lighting up with a joy Thursday rarely saw on the man’s face. “Really?”

Jakes nodded. “I’m sure I can sneak some in.”

Thursday’s eyes narrowed at that. The last thing Morse needed was alcohol. The boy had been far too deep in the bottle the last time Thursday had checked. He was a bit surprised at Jakes, encouraging him like that. Jakes liked a pint now and then, but he seemed to draw the line at drowning memories in whiskey. Best slip in now and nip that thought in the bud. 

Both men jumped somewhat guiltily as Thursday walked into the room. He waved them off, coming to stand on the other side of Morse. Jakes relaxed, but Morse remained stiff, his wide eyes staring at Thursday with trepidation. The boy probably thought he was going to get a lecture on his choices of partners. _Bloody hell._ His bagman-- _son_ \--had nearly died; lectures were the last thing on Thursday’s mind. 

He laid his hand gently on Morse’s shoulder. “It’s alright, lad. Jakes and I, we had a chat.” Morse simply stared at him. 

Jakes gently took the tea out of Morse’s good hand, nodding at Thursday. “Dev?” Morse’s head swiveled to face Jakes. “I’m going to nip out for a bit, alright? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Thursday didn’t miss the way Morse’s hand shot out to grab Jakes’, a slight look of panic coming into his eyes. Jakes smiled down at Morse, a smile that was so unlike his normal smirks that Thursday almost didn’t recognize him. “I’ll bring you back something better than tea, okay?”

Morse gave him a shy smile, ducking his head a bit and finally letting go. He nodded. “Peter? Be safe, okay?” 

Jakes nodded, glancing out at the door and then up at Thursday before pressing a quick kiss to Morse’s forehead. “Rest a bit, yeah?” He glanced back up at Thursday. “Are you sure…”

“Sergeant, go home and change. You’ve been in that shirt long enough. I’m sure Morse doesn’t need to be staring at that reminder any longer.” _And neither do I,_ Thursday thought.

Jakes glanced back down at Morse, reluctant to leave him despite Thursday’s earlier phone conversation with him. Finally he nodded, squeezing Morse’s hand once before disappearing through the door. 

Once he was gone, silence slipped in between Thursday and Morse. They regarded each other warily, neither willing to bring up any of the events of the past twenty-four hours. It was Morse’s rapidly worsening complexion that finally made Thursday speak.

“Rest yourself, there Morse. No need to sit up on my account.” He gently pushed Morse back onto his pillow. It spoke volumes about Morse’s state of being that the boy didn’t even protest. “There now, comfortable?” Thursday pulled the blanket up around Morse’s shoulders before sitting down in the chair behind him. “That’s better. Wouldn’t want Jakes thinking I tired you out now, would we?”

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, because Morse’s eyes widened and his breath hitched. “Sir--”

“Now, Morse…” He really wasn’t any good at this, this comforting gig. He knew how to bully information out of suspects and bluff his way out of a tight spot, but he’d always left the comforting for someone else. The kids went to Win when they needed held, and he assumed someone showed up when people broke down crying at the nick. But this was Morse. Morse, who had almost died and who was now expecting to be taken to task--or worse--because he both loved and was loved by someone who didn’t fit the “accepted” standards for a life partner. Thursday snorted, belatedly realizing Morse had heard him. “Morse...did Jakes tell you why he was allowed to stay overnight?”

Morse swallowed. _Was it possible for the man to get any paler?_ “They...the staff thinks he’s my half brother? I think?”

“Did he tell you why they think that?” Morse shook his head. “I told them.”

Morse froze. “You?” Thursday nodded. “Why--er, sir?”

Thursday took a deep breath. _Why, indeed._ “We all need someone, Morse. If you’ve found someone....it’s not my place to tell you that you’ve found the wrong someone.”

Morse regarded him in silence for a long moment. “But you still think it’s wrong.” It was a statement, not a question. The lad always expected the worst out of those around him; it was a wonder Jakes even got close to Morse. 

“I didn’t say that, now did I?” Thursday scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t say it’s what I expected. I didn’t. But I watched you two, just now. And if I caught Joanie with someone who looked at her the way...the way you two were...I’d be proud to welcome that someone into my family.” Morse’s eyes were only slightly less suspicious. “Look, Morse, I’m trying to say that you need someone to look after you. I want someone to look after you. And, well, Jakes needs that too.” 

Some of the tension seemed to bleed out of Morse’s body. “You’re...you’re okay, then? You won’t….” Morse trailed off, eyes turning to examine his fingernails. “You won’t, you know, arrest us?”

Thursday reached out and laid his hand on top of Morse’s. “No, lad. I’ve just got you back from the devil, I’ve no plans to send you away from me anytime soon.” Morse’s shoulders relaxed completely at that, fingers falling limply to the bed sheets beneath Thursday’s hand. “Now, why don’t you have a little kip. My Win’s sent me over with a book of Houseman she found, maybe you’d like me to read to you?”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, sir. I’m sure you’d rather be with your family, on Christmas....”

“I am, Morse.” Morse’s forehead wrinkled in confusion and Thursday sighed. How exactly had Jakes managed to get past Morse’s iron defenses? “You’re part of my family, lad. Like it or not. Now, would you like me to read to you, or just sit here in silence?”

Morse gave him one of his shyest smiles; the one that said he was truly pleased, even though he wasn’t quite sure you were telling him the truth. “I’d like it if you read to me, sir. It....it keeps the memories back, a bit.”

Thursday nodded, turning to pull a book out of the satchel he had brought. He’d have to keep a closer eye on Morse this time around. He’d failed him after the Coke-Norris shooting, and he didn’t want to repeat that mistake. Maybe he could recruit Jakes this time. 

“Right, then. Just listen to the words, Morse. You’ll be safe enough with me.” He opened the book to a poem Joan had marked. _He needs to laugh, more, Dad,_ she’d said. It felt silly, to be sitting in a hospital bed, reading poems to his bagman-- _son_. But if it meant one more day that he got to keep Morse safe from a world that seemed determined to do the lad harm, he’d gladly read a thousand and one poems. Thursday glanced over to Morse, smiling at the peaceful expression on the lad’s face. 

Softly, he began to read: 

_Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly: Why should men make haste to die? Empty heads and tongues a-talking Make the rough road easy walking, And the feather pate of folly Bears the falling sky. Oh, 'tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around. If young hearts were not so clever, Oh, they would be young forever: Think no more; 'tis only thinking Lays lads underground._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Thursday and Jakes had a long phone conversation in which Thursday managed to convince Jakes to go home, change, and maybe pick up some things for Morse (this last was the only thing that convinced Jakes to leave.) This is why Jakes picks up and leaves rather quickly. If I paused to write that conversation, we'd never get anywhere. (Also, they are totally living together in this world, as "roommates". I need to go back and add that into the first chapter at some point.) 
> 
> Feel free to keep sending me ideas about the prequels. :) Also--ideas for poems that Jakes would quote at Morse? The one I used here was Housman, from A Shropshire Lad. I need to brush up on Morse's preferred poetry.


	12. We'll be Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Jakes had planned for Morse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I was exhausted yesterday and didn't want to rush this chapter. If I was smart (or mean?) I would end this fic on this chapter, because I like the way this chapter wraps up. :) Enjoy!  
> (But there's more coming because I am now _obsessed_ with these two and this story.)

Jakes had snuck away from Morse late last evening to phone Thursday. Part of him had hated to disrupt the man’s sleep, but another part suspected Thursday wouldn’t rest until he had heard that Morse had woken up. Thursday had called again at nearly the crack of dawn, demanding an update. He wanted to visit that afternoon, and insisted that Jakes take a few hours to go home and clean up. Maybe pick up a few things for Morse--a set of clothes and a book or two. 

At the time, Jakes had been fairly willing to go. The dark stain on his shirt was an all too visible reminder of what he had almost lost. It shouted to Jakes of how differently his life could have gone at so many points in their conjoined past. He saw other images of a blood-soaked Morse reflected back in that one stain: images of tiger claws, Matthew’s bullet too close to Morse’s heart, a gushing head wound from a Nazi sympathizer. Too many times he had almost lost Morse. He needed to be rid of the reminder.

But now, as he stood in the small flat that he shared with Morse ( _might as well keep those cigarettes and opera away from civilized folks_ \--so station gossip ran), he found he didn’t know what to do with the stained shirt. It was Morse’s blood, after all-- blood spilled far to wantonly for how precious it was to Jakes. That blood belonged to Morse, and Morse to him; it didn’t feel right to just discard the shirt. Jakes found himself staring down at his shirt, his thumb running over the stain as images of Morse’s still form came unbidden.

Alone at last, Jakes let loose the dam that had held back the fear and adrenaline from the last 24 hours. He crumpled to the floor, clutching the shirt to his chest while he sobbed.

* * *

Leaving Morse, even for a short period, even with Thursday and an entire hospital watching over him, was harder than Jakes had expected. His fingers itched to run themselves through Morse’s hair, his arms ached to pull the man close to him again. Throughout those terrifying moments when Morse had been in the clutches of Bertelli, Jakes had wanted nothing more than to hold Morse until he stopped shaking, until his body healed, until his mind had calmed. But since the medics had pulled Morse’s limp body from him, he hadn’t been able to do much more than hold his hand. _Damn hospitals._ Well, not quite. They had managed to stitch Morse back together, keep his heart beating, restore his blood. Still, Jakes just wanted to bring his Morse back home. 

Jakes rushed through their shared space, gathering up a few items for Morse--his clothes had been cut away and discarded--and taking a few moment to mess about in the kitchen. Mixing together something for Morse--something better, stronger than that horrid hospital tea--soothed his shattered nerves. Since that day Morse had saved Jakes from his own memories, Jakes had delighted in finding ways to save Morse from his own demons. The man seemed to have so little comfort in his life, and Jakes was happy to give the man what he could. For all of Morse’s intelligence and book learning, he was no match for Jakes’ culinary skills. He smiled to himself as he poured the concoction into a thermos and wrapped up three mugs; might as well give Thursday some. Jakes tucked the contraband beneath Morse’s clothes and dashed out the door.

He’d been away long enough.

* * *

Jakes was nearly running by the time he reached Morse’s room, desperate to ensure Morse hadn’t slipped away while he was gone. It was foolish, he knew--Morse had been healing well when he’d left--but he’d long ago realized his heart was far from logical when it came to Dev.

Morse’s eyes were closed when Jakes slipped into the room, and his heart sped up until he noticed the regular rise and fall of Morse’s thin chest. _Asleep, he was just asleep._ So was Thursday, for that matter. Jakes chuckled softly at the pair of them. He closed the door softly behind him and set his bag on the chair next to Morse’s bed. Sorting out its contents could wait; he needed to remind himself that Morse was still here with him.

Jakes sat down on Morse’s bed cautiously, as close to the man’s warmth as he could get. His hand came to rest on Morse’s chest, seeking out the solid rhythm of his heartbeat. Jakes let his own breathing slow to match Morse’s, eyes drinking in the peaceful expression on the younger man’s face. For the moment, he was safe; for the moment, that was enough for Jakes.

A few minutes later, Morse stirred. Jakes glanced over at Thursday; still asleep. With a sly smile, Jakes bent over Morse, pressing a gentle kiss to his love’s lips. Morse’s eyelashes fluttered open, lovely eyes searching for Jakes’. He smiled into Jakes’ kiss before kissing back.

Jakes pulled back, left hand coming up to rest on the side of Morse’s face. “Hey.”

“You came back,” Morse murmured.

“‘Course I did, Dev.” He couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Morse’s nose. The man looked indignant, the way he always did when Jakes’ took that particular liberty. Jakes grinned mischievously, head canted to the side in a teasing gesture.

“Pretty sure the staff would have something to say about this, _brother,_ ” Morse grumbled, the pleased look in his eyes belying his irritation.

Jakes snorted and sat back up. “Alright then. I suppose I’ll have to wait to have my way with you, then.” He dropped his voice a bit and was rewarded by the flush that spread over Morse’s cheeks. _He needed some color,_ Jakes thought with a self-satisfied smile.

“Peter!” Morse hissed, glancing over at Thursday.

Jakes wiggled his eyebrows suggestively before pushing himself off of the bed. Morse whimpered a bit at the loss of contact. “I did bring you something a bit more acceptable.” 

Morse brightened at that, and immediately tried to sit up. The motion pulled on his injured shoulder and he cried out. Instantly, Thursday was awake and Jakes was at his side.

“Good God, Dev, stop that!” Jakes huffed, pulling several pillows behind Morse’s back. He fussed about for a few moments until Morse was propped in a semi-sitting position. 

“We’ve only just got you back, lad. Don’t go hurting yourself more.” Thursday admonished sternly. His eyes roamed over Morse, assuring himself the boy was alright. 

Jakes hovered for a moment longer, until Morse’s breathing slowed down. Once the pain had faded from Morse’s face, Jakes turned to unpack the thermos and mugs. With his back to Thursday and Morse, he poured them each some of his famous beverage. Well, it was famous in Morse’s eyes at least. He missed the concerned expression that passed over Thursday’s face. Jakes turned, handing Morse his mug with a flourish. He stood back, smiling widely at the expression of pure delight that came over Morse’s face as he took a sip. After a moment, he grabbed his own mug and handed the third to Thursday. 

Thursday stared down at the steaming, pudding-like liquid in confusion. It smelled strongly of....chocolate?! He glanced up at Jakes and Morse with a bewildered expression. “Hot chocolate?”

Morse blushed, staring down into his cup. Jakes looked smug. “Scotch is no match for the culinary arts,” he announced proudly. “I managed to convince Dev--er, Morse-- here that _cioccolata calda_ was a better remedy for tough cases than cheap liquor.”

“You made Morse Italian hot chocolate?” Thursday sputtered. Jakes nodded as he sat back down on the bed. Thursday stared into the mug for a while longer before tasting the beverage tentatively. He looked back up at Jakes in wonder. “Where did you pick that up?”

Jakes shrugged. “I’ve a bit of a sweet tooth, and happened across this in a little cafe in London. Had to learn how to make it. Turns out Dev rather liked it too.” Jakes ruffled Morse’s curls, Cheshire-cat grin still in place.

Thursday opened and closed his mouth a few more times before giving up. _Will wonders will never cease_. Peter Jakes had managed to save Morse--his one time rival--from the depths of a bottle with _Italian hot chocolate_. 

The three men sat in silence, savoring the comfort that came from warm, sweet beverages. For those few moments, the rested in the knowledge that they had all survived the wars once more. Death and evil had lost the battle that Christmas day, and they were the winners once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhhh so. Somehow this ship has consumed me?? I definitely spent a half hour earlier plotting out the prequels? (Currently titled "The Taming of Detective Sergeant Peter Jakes" and "The Wooing of Endeavour Morse". Yes, there are two. God help me.) They will probably take a bit longer to get out, as I have another fic that I need to keep working on for some of my friends. (It's based on a RPG that we didn't get to finish and my imagination ran away with.) But, they are in the works and I am _stupid excited_ about them. I'm starting to drop hints about their past in this Jakes-Stays AU. Feel free to keep submitting things you would like to see as Jakes falls in love with and works on wooing Morse.
> 
> I swear, when I started this a week ago it was supposed to be a little one shot, self-indulgent fic. And now it's taken over my life. Ahhhhhhhhhh.
> 
> Oh, also, I may slow down a bit in updates, as I really should get a new chapter out in my other fic. But I have absolutely no intention of abandoning this little AU I've written. :)


	13. Tell me if I'm Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard, having Morse in the hospital. Jakes loses his temper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two sad, dramatic boys have _so much baggage_. This started out as just a quick paragraph to get Morse out of the hospital, but then Jakes went and yelled at Morse and I had to deal with the fallout. Silly, silly boys.

It had been long enough; Jakes was ready to get Morse home. He’d had to content himself with surreptitiously holding Morse’s hand and stealing kisses behind closed doors. He’d been rushing back and forth between the nick and the hospital, trying to hold himself together while he was gone and resisting the urge to just spirit Morse away. He just wanted to hold his Morse.

The worst part was been the hospital’s reluctance to release Morse. He’d not responded quite the way they had expected, sleeping longer and healing slower than he should have. A half hour ago, Jakes had walked in on one of the nurses sternly lecturing a weary-looking Morse about needing to take care of himself. Morse had admitted, reluctantly, that he hadn’t been eating a lot lately; he’d been caught up on a case. When the nurse left, Jakes had lit into Morse. They’d both been run ragged the month before Christmas, but Morse had promised Jakes he was taking care of himself. Under the onslaught of two independent lectures, Morse had clammed up and retreated into his aloof shell. Jakes had lost his temper, nearly shouting at Morse before storming out of the room. 

He walked back to the room, calmed down and horrified at own behavior. He knew better than to shout at Dev, the younger man always cringed away from Jakes’ judgement with an unreasonable amount of fear in his eyes. Fear that Morse’s self-destructive tendencies, coupled with Bertelli’s abuse, could still take his Morse away from him had driven the rant, but it didn’t excuse it. He crept cautiously into the room, apology on the tip of his tongue.

Morse was curled up on his side, red-rimmed eyes staring blankly at the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. The blanket had been kicked to the bottom of the bed and he was shivering slightly. Jakes dashed to his side, drawing the blanket up over Morse’s too-thin frame and kneeling in front of him.

“Dev?” He was relieved when Morse’s eyes focused on him almost immediately. _Still here._

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And damn him, he looked it too. Not for the first time, Jakes wondered at what kind of messed-up childhood Morse had had. Jakes’ own had been filled with a unique sort of terror, but it had formed him into a hard, resolute man. He’d been determined to need no one’s approval, no one’s kindness, and no one’s generosity to make his own way in the world. When Morse came along, Jakes had slowly accepted the awkward overtures of kindness, hard heart thawing under Morse’s forgiveness and patience. Morse, on the other hand, seemed desperately in need of affection, despite his cactus-like exterior. He withered under rebuke, but not out of self-pity. It was as if the harsh words that others saw fit to bestow upon him only mimicked the unforgiving litany that constantly went through his own mind. The judgement of his peers confirmed the man’s poor opinion of himself. And Jakes had managed to add himself to that category once again. _Stupid._

“Dev--no, _I’m_ sorry. You scared me, that’s all.” Jakes ran his thumb along the healing scar on Morse’s cheek. Morse’s eyes closed, though his face was still crumpled in frustration. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, and I can’t bear the thought of you leaving me. You haven’t healed like you should and....I lost my temper. Dev, I’m sorry.”

Morse’s eyes fluttered open and he searched Jakes’ face as if looking for a lie. “Can’t be,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the bed.

“Can’t be what?” Jakes kept up the soothing rhythm of his thumb on Morse’s cheek; it seemed to be calming the man.

“Best thing...that happened to you.” He looked back up at Jakes’, eyes full of self-hatred. Damn, Jakes hadn’t seen that in weeks. “I’m a bloody disaster.” His voice was only a whisper, but it sawed through Jakes’ heart nonetheless.

“Hey, Dev. Have you noticed who you are talking to?” The both of them were disasters, Jakes joked about that often enough. Damaged and floundering along the best they could, they tended to cling to one another as mutual lifelines. Dev, naturally, tended to forget he wasn’t the only one.

Morse smiled slightly. “You’re not a disaster,” he whispered. Jakes held his breath, waiting for Morse to complete the joke. “Your suit's too nice.”

Jakes smiled encouragingly at him. “That’s better.” The haunted look hadn’t completely left Morse’s eyes, but he looked less like a frightened rabbit. “Listen, they’re letting you out tomorrow, okay? We’ll get you home and I promise you’ll be feeling better.”

Uncertainty passed over Morse’s face, and he glanced at his left arm, still held tightly to his side. It would be awhile before he regained full mobility of that limb. 

Jakes tweaked his nose, bringing Morse’s attention back to him. “Bright’s given me leave, a week’s worth.” Morse’s eyes widened, shock and relief vying for control. “Well, more like ordered me off. Thursday convinced him someone needed to look after you--it’s true, don’t look so offended--and said I might as well since I lived with you anyhow.” Jakes smirked, recalling the conversation they’d had in Bright’s office. “Gave me a stern look and a bit of a talking-to, just for show. I agreed under protest.” Morse opened his mouth, probably ready to say something stupid like “I’m fine.” Jakes cut him off with a quick kiss. “Not another word. I want to.” He swallowed, emotion suddenly threatening to choke him. “Dev, I just….I just want to hold you. I can’t stop thinking….about that night. You were saying goodbye and then...then they took you away from me.” He took a shaky breath, bowing his head against the sudden onslaught of memories. 

A warm hand on the side of his face brought his attention back to Morse. He was smiling softly at Jakes, tenderness replacing the self-recrimination from earlier. “It’s alright, Peter. I’m still here. I won’t go anywhere, I promise.” He ducked his head, shyly looking at Jakes from under his lashes. “I’ve been cold, sleeping here all alone.”

Jakes pressed a kiss to Morse’s forehead. That was as close as Morse would get to saying he wanted to be held. The man had no idea how to ask for what he wanted--no, _needed_. “Me to, Dev. Me too.”

Jakes stood and helped Morse get comfortable once again before pulling a chair over. He sat there, gently stroking Morse’s curls as Morse dozed. And like he had every night they’d spent together in that cold, sterile place, he softly recited to Morse: 

_Is it thy will, thy image should keep open_  
_My heavy eyelids to the weary night?_  
_Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,_  
_While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?_  
_Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee_  
_So far from home into my deeds to pry,_  
_To find out shames and idle hours in me,_  
_The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?_  
_O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:_  
_It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:_  
_Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,_  
_To play the watchman ever for thy sake:_  
_For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,_  
_From me far off, with others all too near.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums happily as she types*
> 
> Thanks to guardianoffun who suggested Shakespeare for Jakes. This is sonnet 61. Sonnet 17 will be making an appearance once we get Morse home. Poor man.


	14. Loving that We're Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home again, home again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *wails* "I don't know how to start this chapter!"  
> My mom: *jokingly* "It was a dark and stormy night."  
> Me: "......actually...."
> 
> Proof positive that I can run with literally any prompt. Somehow.

The next day began dark and gloomy, with snow and sleet competing against one another to make everyone miserable. To Peter Jakes, however, the weather was of no consequence; next to him, bundled into the passenger seat and peering intently out the window, was Endeavour Morse. Jakes was taking his Morse _home_ ; the clouds could do as they pleased. 

“It’s nice to see the outside world again,” Morse murmured as they drove through Oxford. “I hate hospitals.”

“I hate you being in hospitals,” Jakes countered.

“It doesn’t happen that often!” Morse protested, turning to glare at Jakes. The sudden movement tugged at his stitches and he winced.

“This makes five times. Yes, I’ve been counting. And that’s not including all the times you pretend Doctor DeBryn is your own personal physician.” Morse huffed and snuggled deeper into the blanket that Jakes had tucked around him. “Dev, no one else at the nick has been admitted to the hospital _five times_. No one our age, at any rate.”

“It’s not my fault sharp objects like me.” Morse muttered.

Jakes chanced a glare in his direction. “You chased a madman under the Bodleian, jumped in front of at least two bullets, and shall we recall what happened at Crevecoeur?”

“The fact that there was a tiger stalking about Oxford was not, in any way, my fault.” Morse snapped haughtily. 

“I was gone for two months, Dev, and I come back to find you in the hospital. Why? Because you’d been mauled by a bloody _tiger_.” Jakes still wasn’t over that. He’d come back for Morse, only to find that he was nearly too late. 

Morse pressed his lips together in a pout and refused to respond. Jakes felt a surge of gratefulness wash over him at the familiar sight. He wasn’t sure he could put into words how good it felt to have Morse back at his side, bickering away as if nothing happened. God, he loved Morse. 

“What are you smiling about?” Morse asked petulantly. 

“You, Dev. I missed you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the confused tilt of Morse’s head. He reached out and worked his hand under the blanket until he found Morse’s long fingers. “I just....we’ve been so careful, at the hospital. It’s good to... you know...be us.”

Morse rubbed his thumb over Jakes’ knuckles. “I missed you too, Peter.”

* * *

The drive from the hospital had sapped most of Morse’s strength, and he’d lapsed into silence by the time Jakes pulled up outside their flat. His face was pale and drawn as Jakes helped him out of the car. Once Jakes had stuffed the blanket back into the passenger seat, he wrapped an arm around Morse’s waist. 

Morse tried to push away weakly. “Someone might see!”

“I don’t care. I want you with me, not in hospital again. I’m not risking you falling over.” Jakes shut the car door and maneuvered Morse to their stoop. “Besides, I’m just helping my mate back into our flat. Nothing suspicious there.” He kept one arm firmly around Morse--perhaps a bit too firmly for “just mates”--while he fussed with the keys. 

Once inside, he guided Morse to their small sitting room. He’d fixed up the couch the day before, pulling the pillows from the spare bed in so that Morse could prop himself up against the ends. Gently, he lowered Morse to the couch. Morse leaned back with a tired sigh, head tilted back and eyes closed. Jakes stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of his Morse safe and sound; back where Jakes could keep an eye on him. His eyes drifted to the small cut on the side of Morse’s neck, and he shivered. Unbidden, the image came of Morse with a knife to his throat, framed in broken glass. And finally, safe from judging eyes, Jakes gave in to the desire to wrap his arms his Morse.

Jakes sank down onto the couch, pressing his lips to the offending injury. Morse started, but stilled as Jakes rested a hand on his chest. “Stay,” he murmured. Morse snorted indignantly at the command, but didn’t move. Jakes lingered at Morse’s neck a moment longer before tucking his head gently onto Morse’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around Morse’s chest. “Does this hurt?”

“No,” Morse sighed. “Feels good.” Morse leaned his head over until it rested against Jakes’. His right hand came up to wrap around Jakes’ wrist. “Everytime I woke up in the hospital, and you weren’t there, I thought I’d failed.” 

Jakes pulled his head back a bit, staring at Morse. _Oh, this again._

They’d had this conversation nearly half a dozen times over the past several days. Morse grew agitated every time he couldn’t find Jakes upon waking, convinced that Bertelli had shot both of them and only Morse had been recovered. Most times, Jakes was simply out in the hall, or Thursday was there to reassure Morse. Once, though, when neither of them had been there, the hospital had called Jakes at the nick. Thursday had covered for him-- _bless that man_ \-- so Jakes could rush over to the hospital. They’d had to sedate Morse, he’d been so upset. The doctors assured both Jakes and Thursday that it was likely a result of the trauma, and Morse’s fears should fade with time. Nevertheless, they had been rather relieved to know that Jakes would be looking after his “brother” for several days after his release. 

Jakes untangled himself from Morse, hushing his protests with a soft kiss. “You need to rest, Dev. We can talk about everything later.” He knelt down and quickly untied Morse’s shoes. “Hold onto my shoulder.” Deftly, Jakes swung Morse’s legs up onto the couch and then slid in behind him. He eased Morse back against his own chest slowly, helping Morse shuffle around until he was comfortable. “Now, close your eyes. I’m right here, Dev. And I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

Morse shifted his head a bit so he could look at Jakes. “You...you don’t have to hold me, you know. I’ll….I’ll be okay. I just meant…”

“Dev. From the moment I saw you lying there on the ground, with Bertelli’s bullet in your shoulder, all I wanted to do was this.” Jakes traced the side of Morse’s face with a finger. “The whole time he dragged you around that factory, the whole time you’ve been stuck in that damn hospital bed, I’ve just wanted to hold you...to keep you safe. And if this keeps you from panicking when you wake up? Then we both get something out of it.”

Morse stared at him for a moment. Finally a small smile worked its way onto his lips. “I love you, Peter,” he murmured sleepily.

And how glad Jakes was that this time, it sounded like hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Was. Not. Supposed. To. Be. A. Chapter. Dammit.
> 
> I started out today with one. single. scene. That I wanted to write. And I still haven't gotten there because these boys keep being dramatic.


	15. I Won't Lie to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little domestic fluff, with a dash of angst. Because Morse is, well, Morse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the scene that I envisioned in my head last night. The scene I wanted to write today. The only part of the four chapters I wrote today that was _actually supposed to happen_.

When Jakes finally woke up, he found Morse staring at him through the dim light of early evening. The relief that Jakes felt at finding Morse alive and (mostly) well was reflected back to him in Morse’s eyes. They were a pair, Jakes thought as he wound his fingers through Morse’s. Each terrified that the other had slipped away while they slept. They stayed there like that for a while, content to rest silently in each other’s presence, each knowing the other was safe by the steady rhythm of hearts and lungs and the solid pressure of intertwined fingers.

Finally--reluctantly--Jakes eased himself out from under Morse. Someone had to make sure they ate, and it certainly wouldn't be Morse. Not that Jakes would trust Morse anywhere near the kitchen. Morse was a brilliant copper, but a shitty cook. He couldn’t even make toast without burning it. Jakes wasn’t sure if it was because Morse honestly didn’t understand the rules of cooking, or if he just got lost in operas and crossword puzzles. He was fairly certain the reason Morse never remembered to eat was because the man didn’t know what good food tasted like. 

When they’d finished eating--Jakes noted with not a little amount of pride that Morse had cleaned his plate, _twice_ \--Jakes shooed Morse to the bedroom while he cleaned up. The two of them shared the same bed, but kept their things in separate rooms. The arrangement suited their needs well. Jakes’ suits could be spread out in their own closet, and Morse could toss his ties over the backs of chairs as he pleased. And the few visitors that came had no trouble believing Jakes to be the owner of the absurd double bed and Morse to be the resident in the perpetually messy smaller room. 

Jakes was a tidy cook, so it took him only a few minutes to set the kitchen to rights again. He had just switched off the lights when he heard a cry of pain from Morse’s room. Jakes found himself standing once again in a cold, dreary factory yard, the smell of gunpowder stinging his nose. He’d made it halfway across the room before he remembered he was in his own home. The realization didn’t calm him down.

Morse was hunched over on the bed, moaning softly and rocking back and forth. His shirt was half off, and he had his right arm wrapped around his left arm and shoulder. Jakes was at his side in an instant. “Dev?” His hands hovered at Morse’s shoulders, unsure of where to land.

“Couldn’t get...my shirt off,” Morse whispered. “Pulled too hard on my shoulder.” He sounded like he was fighting off tears.

Jakes sunk down onto his knees, peering up into Morse’s face. He rested his hands on Morse’s knees. “It’s okay, Dev. I can help you, okay?” He studied Morse’s face a moment longer; Morse refused to look at him. “Dev?” 

Morse muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “useless.”

Jakes brought one hand up to Morse’s chin and slowly drew Morse’s face up until he could see his eyes. “What did you say?”

Morse blinked back tears. “I’m useless, Peter. I can’t even get my own damn shirt off.” He shrugged angrily, wincing at the pull to his injured shoulder. “I tried to stop that man from shooting you, and I couldn’t even get that right. Got myself shot.” He sucked in a deep breath of air. “Should have fought back, or something. Just dragged you and half the station around, on Christmas Eve! For what?” He snorted. “Waste of resources. Useless!”

Jakes’ shoulders sagged. Were it any other man, he would have walked away in disgust. Jakes had no patience for self-pity, not even in himself. It had taken him a long time to realize that what he thought was self-pity in Endeavour Morse was instead the only truth that Morse knew of himself. For whatever reason, the man honestly believed that he was only worth something when his achievements could be cataloged on paper, listed with neat little check marks indicating completion. Jakes was convinced that Morse’s lack of self preservation skills stemmed from his convictions that the only worthwhile ventures were those that directly benefited someone else.

“Dev...Dev, look at me.” He waited until Morse complied. “What do you see?”

Morse blinked. “What do I see? I see you.”

Jakes nodded. “Right. Me. Whole, complete, uninjured. That’s because of you, okay?” It hurt so much to say that; to give in to Morse’s messed up view of the world, letting him believe his injuries were acceptable because Jakes himself was uninjured. But getting to the heart of the matter was a discussion for a day when they were both able to handle it. Right now, he needed to get Morse into bed; neither of them had slept well in the past week. And the only way to get him calm and get him into bed was to cater to whatever devil was dancing about in his mind. “Look at me, Dev. I’m fine. Every time you wake up, I’m right here. Okay?”

Morse nodded, eyes still wary. “I couldn’t fight him off, Peter.” It was almost a confession. “I wanted to, to get rid of him, save everyone the trouble. But I was so cold.”

Jakes blinked back tears at the weariness in Morse’s voice. He let his hand come up to rest gently on the bandages covering the bullet wound. “Dev, love, you were shot. You lost….god, you lost so much blood. Bertelli, Dev, he was crazy. He didn’t care what happened. It’s not your fault, Dev.” 

“I did try, you know. I heard you coming, at the end there. I tried to push him away.” Morse flinched backwards, as if an invisible hand had struck at him. “He came at me.” A pale hand came up, resting gently on the long, healing scar that sliced across Morse’s chest, partially obscured by his vest. “He had that knife. Peter.” Morse’s voice dropped to a whisper as the fear in his voice reached a crescendo. “I was so scared. I thought...I thought he was going to kill me. I thought….I thought I’d never see you...again.” A shaky sob cut short his reverie. His hand came up to dash away angrily at the tears. “I’m sorry, Peter.” His voice was cold as he tried to regain control.

“Oh no you don’t, Dev. Don’t shut me out.” Jakes surged up to sit next to Morse on the bed. He let one hand rest on Morse’s good shoulder, the other slowly tracing the red welt on Morse’s chest. Finally he glanced up at Morse. “Don’t shut me out, Dev.” He whispered. “I was scared too. I heard you…I didn’t know what happened. I was so afraid I was going to be too late.” He brought his hand up to cradle the side of Morse’s face. “Dev...I’m glad you didn’t fight back more. Bertelli didn’t care, he just wanted to hurt me. If you’d been too much trouble….” he let his voice trail off, unable to finish the thought; unable to give credence to the nightmares that plagued his sleep. He shook his head. “Please, Dev. Don’t pretend nothing happened. I can’t.”

Morse’s eyes searched Jakes’ face. “You don’t mind.” It was a statement, not a question. “That I couldn’t fight him off. It doesn’t bother you.” He sounded genuinely surprised that Jakes didn’t give a damn about the fact that Morse--while _badly injured_ \-- had been unable to fight off a madman nearly twice his size.

“Dev, all I care about is that you are sitting here, in front of me, breathing and talking to me. I’d have routed the whole of the CID on Christmas day, if I’d had to.” Jakes sighed, weariness creeping into his bones. “We need to talk about this, Dev, but not tonight. We’re both exhausted. Will you let me help you?” Morse stiffened, his old pride struggling to reassert itself. “Because I want to, Dev. I want to help you. This is what people do, Dev. People who love each other. They help one another. Please?”

Morse slumped. “Yes.”

Jakes helped him gently out of his clothes and into a soft set of pyjamas. He wrapped his arm around Morse’s waist and guided him to their bed. Once Morse was settled under the covers, Jakes retreated for a moment to complete his own nightly routine. Finally, after so many days of uncomfortable hospital chairs and lonely arms, Peter Jakes slid under the covers next to his Morse. He flicked the switch on the lamp, dropping the room into a darkness lit only by a small light in the corner of the room. Jakes shuffled over until he was pressed up against Morse’s side. His left hand found Morse’s and his right arm wrapped itself around Morse’s slim waist.

“You stay right here, Dev,” he murmured into Morse’s hair. “Right here, where I know where you are.”

Morse turned his head towards Jakes, nuzzling into the older man’s neck. “Missed you, Peter.”

Jakes breathed in the smell of Morse’s hair, taking a moment to relax into Morse’s body. _Oh, he’d missed this._ “Not as much as I missed you. I love you, Endeavour Morse.”

The room was silent for a moment, and Jakes thought Morse had fallen asleep. But then Morse’s rich voice stole across Jakes’ chest:

 _The fountains mingle with the river_  
_And the rivers with the ocean,_  
_The winds of heaven mix for ever_  
_With a sweet emotion;_  
_Nothing in the world is single;_  
_All things by a law divine_  
_In one spirit meet and mingle._  
_Why not I with thine?—_  
  
_See the mountains kiss high heaven_  
_And the waves clasp one another;_  
_No sister-flower would be forgiven_  
_If it disdained its brother;_  
_And the sunlight clasps the earth_  
_And the moonbeams kiss the sea:_  
_What is all this sweet work worth_  
_If thou kiss not me?  
_

_____ _

_____ _

So Jakes kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morse quotes _Love's Philosophy_ by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Because Shakespeare is Jakes' territory, and apparently I'm a sucker for Morse and poetry.
> 
> I am going to bed. Heavens. These boys are so dang dramatic.
> 
> I *think* we are approaching the end. I have a few more scenes, namely, Jakes and Morse having a _discussion_ about how willingly Morse ignores his own safety. And about how Morse doesn't seem to _get it_ that Jakes doesn't want anybody else. 
> 
> But knowing me (and these self-destructive murder boyfriends) that could take a while. We will see.


	16. Wake up With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse sleeps, and Jakes watches him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that wasn't supposed to be. But, I mean, surely they aren't going to get through their first night together with out _some_ angst.

How long he’d been asleep, Jakes wasn’t sure. He only knew that he was glad to escape his dreams; once again they had stolen Morse away from him. _Morse is alive, Morse is safe, Morse is fine._ Jakes repeated the same litany he had relied on every night since Morse had been shot. _Morse is just in hospital, he’ll be back_ \-- a soft sigh interrupted Jakes’ recitations, and he nearly shot upright at the sound. _Morse was right here!_

Gently, Jakes eased himself up onto his elbows so that he could look down at Morse’s sleeping figure. A wide smile spread across his face, the darkness allowing him to give free reign to the elation he felt in discovering Morse right there once again. When Morse continued sleeping peacefully, Jakes snuck one hand out to rest on Morse’s chest. He needed to feel the other man’s warmth, track his heartbeat--make sure he was still alive. 

Jakes marveled at how differently a sleeping Morse looked from that horrifying still form that had greeted him from the hospital bed that terrible night. Even in sleep, Morse was a disaster. He had one arm thrown up over his head and the opposite leg on top of the covers (though the foot was firmly tangled in the sheet beneath). His hair was a fantastic mess, one that Jakes could barely resist smoothing through with his hands. 

Though he would admit it to no one, probably not even the man himself, Jakes loved watching his Morse sleep. It was one of the few times that Jakes could trust the expression on the man’s face. During waking hours, he was constantly trying to decode Morse’s body language, struggling to find a crack in his “I’m fine” facade. Granted, he hadn’t made Detective Sergeant without some level of skill--he’d gotten pretty good at reading between Morse’s well-rehearsed lines. Still, there was something comforting in watching Morse when he was at peace. 

Which was why Jakes felt a stab of concern when he noted that Morse did not, in fact, look at peace. His pale eyebrows were drawn together in what looked like pain. Damn it, Jakes cursed inwardly. The idiot had probably “forgotten” to take his pain medication, and Jakes hadn’t even noticed. He watched him closely for a few minutes, finally deciding against waking Morse. He appeared to be sleeping well, even if not entirely pain-free. Satisfied that Morse wasn’t suffering unduly, Jakes allowed himself to relax back into a slow study of his lover. 

He’d never expected to actually win Morse over, not after how abysmally he had treated Morse when they first met. And after what he’d done--failed to do--that awful night at Blenheim Vale...Jakes shuddered. Thursday nearly dying had been bad enough. Finding out that Morse had nearly died while in prison-- Jakes shook his head to clear the cobweb memories. He’d promised Morse not to blame himself. Still, the truth remained that Jakes had never expected to uncover the depth of forgiveness, loyalty, and love that lay underneath Morse’s arrogant exterior. How badly had that loyalty been abused, that Morse felt the need to hide it so completely? Jakes stroked his thumb absently over Morse’s chest, wondering if Morse really knew how much his forgiveness had meant to Jakes. Morse's soft words, spoken with complete honesty and uncharacteristic humility had started to heal a wound Jakes had long since given up on. And yet the man had insisted that Jakes just run away and leave Bertelli to do his will with Morse. Jakes’ hand moved to Morse’s good shoulder, tightening protectively. _Never_.

Jakes felt his eyes slowly grow heavy, and he allowed himself to sink back down onto his pillows. He let his arm drift back across Morse’s chest, finding comfort in the steady rise-and-fall of Morse’s chest. He tried his best to keep his eyes open, studying Morse’s profile in the dim light, but he was fighting a losing battle. His last conscious thought before drifting off to sleep was _beautiful, my love_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was going to be longer. But then I took a break and read guardianoffun's Years Apart (go read it) and now my heart is broken and I give up for the night. And also the second half of this chapter is going to be Morse has a Nightmare and after _that_ story I just had to leave these two on a high note...(plus, I really should stop staying up so late on teaching nights...) (even though I really want to keep writing....)
> 
> Oh, there's a few hints in here at things I'm going to explore in the prequels. Lots of canon will stay the same, with me adding in some self-indulgent h/c and angst. *grins*
> 
> More tomorrow, hopefully.


	17. Could Have Been So Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares are unpleasant things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can blame this on guardianoffun. We were trading fic ideas, and she requested Morse panicking when he wakes up from a nightmare and Jakes isn't there. I complied, rather enthusiastically.  
> 

Morse’s surprise at finding a dark-cloaked man in place of the body he was expecting morphed into shock when he saw the gun in the man’s hand. The gun that was pointing at Peter. With a startled shout, Morse threw himself at the man. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had the feeling he had done this before, that he knew what happened next. Foreknowledge didn’t lessen the pain as the cold steel of the man’s revolver smashed into the side of Morse’s face. He staggered back, momentarily blinded, but knowing he had to get away. _Gunshot, there should be a gunshot,_ he thought, moments before a white-hot pain tore through his shoulder.

Then he was hauled to his feet, made to walk even though every step sent more pain through his skull and into his shoulder. At random intervals, his captor would grip his injured shoulder tightly or yank his left arm hard behind his back. Each time he cried out, the man would bend in close to Morse’s ear, breath skittering across Morse’s frozen skin. His insults and taunts varied:

 _“I’m sure Peter will love to hear all about how you cried for him, coward that you are.”_  
_“What did you think was going to happen, charging at me? You’re a sorry excuse for a copper.”_  
_“What, exactly, did Peter Jakes see in you? Such a soft little thing you are.”_ That one was accompanied by a terrifying caress of a cold gun-barrel down Morse’s cheek.  
_“Just look at all the trouble you’ve caused. Think any of them want to be here today? Should have left me to my plans.”_ That said as a knife dug into Morse’s neck and cold wind tore into his shoulder.  
_“Bastard! Think you can get away from me? I’ll teach you, you good for nothing copper!”_ A painful slice across Morse’s chest followed that.  
A painful kick to his injured side, followed by _“Shut up! I’m beginning to think Peter might thank me for ridding him of you.” ___

_____  
_

And then finally, the gunshot that put an end to Morse’s nightmares, put him out of his misery. Except tonight, it wasn’t the gunshot that finally woke him from his memories. It was a draft of cold air and a searing pain in his shoulder.

* * *

Morse’s eyes flew open, panic thrumming through his blood. God, his shoulder hurt. His eyes searched the ceiling, trying to determine where he was. Unfamiliar shadows danced above him, and the soothing sounds of a quiet hospital ward were absent. And it was cold, so cold.

 _Where am I?_ Oh, oh no. _Did I....did I just dream the hospital? No, Peter’s here…_ Morse shot out his right hand, grabbing only air where Peter should be. The space next to him was empty and cold. Peter’s not here. Another wave of pain washed over Morse, his head beginning to pound along with his shoulder. _Cold, it’s too cold!_

He’d never left. He’d never gotten away. He must have lost consciousness after Bertelli’s boot had collided with his bullet wound. That meant--Morse let out a strangled cry---that meant Peter had never found him. That meant--he’d just imagined Peter holding him. _God,_ was that Bertelli? Morse shuddered, nausea beginning to set in. He thought...he thought for sure Peter had kissed him...but what if…Morse cried out again, curling into himself so quickly he felt his something in his shoulder give. _No no no no no!_

He was still in that factory. The silence around him pressed in, nearly suffocating him. He couldn’t hear anyone calling out. They’d probably called off the search by now. Bertelli was right, nobody wanted to be there on Christmas Eve--they’d left him. As they should, he knew, but still...he’d hoped at least Thursday would come for him. And that meant Peter had given up too. Morse moaned. Peter was safe, that was all that mattered, but god, why did they leave him with this madman? He’d just been starting to think that he and Peter might make it. He’d do anything for Peter, he didn’t regret charging Bertelli. But why, why, did they leave him here? Couldn’t they have tried a little longer? Couldn’t they see, when he was in that window, how scared he was? _Scared? Bloody terrified._

Morse was shaking uncontrollably now, sensitive to the slightest sound, waiting for Bertelli to return. What would he do, now that Peter had given up? He couldn’t kill Peter, so would he just kill Morse? Or worse? The man was insane, Morse could tell that. What might he do, just to get back at Peter? Torture Morse? Leave his body somewhere for Peter to find? Morse let out a wail, trying to curl himself into a tighter ball.

God, he was pathetic. If he was worth his own damn warrant card, he’d be trying to figure out how to get out, not laying here sobbing. Bertelli was right, he was useless. Couldn’t even fight back. He’d just been shot, it wasn’t the end of the world. _Dammit, Morse! Get up!_

But then he heard footsteps. Running footsteps. Getting closer. He was coming back. Bertelli was coming back. _Oh, God._ Morse pulled his arms over his head, ignoring his shoulder’s protest. Bertelli shouted, something that sounded like Morse’s own name, but he wasn’t listening. He was just hoping, praying, that the man would just kill him and not do anything worse. Maybe...maybe he could reason with him?

“Please---just, god, please kill me. I can’t...I don’t want to...please, don’t make me, just kill me!” He knew he wasn’t making sense, but he couldn’t think.

A hand on his shoulder spooked him, and he uncoiled, scrabbling backwards as fast as he could. “No, please, no! Please...don’t hurt me anymore. Stop, please!” He held his hands up, trying to hide his face, trying to protect himself anyway he could. “I know they left me, I know, so it’s over, just...just kill me. It hurts, please!” Morse gave up, he couldn’t think anymore, his shoulder hurt and his head hurt and something felt terribly wrong. He looked up at Bertelli, tears streaming down his face, willing to look once more at his captor if it would just free him from this terror.

He looked up, right into the eyes of the person he most wanted to see. “Peter?” he whispered.

Jakes’ heart shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY. (Not actually)  
> I'll get the second half out tomorrow! *runs away before people can throw rotten vegetables at her*


	18. Never Let You Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes just got up to find Morse's damn painkillers. He didn't expect to come back to find Morse in a full-blown panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being 90% angst, 10% comfort. Whoops.  
> I'm planning on getting to the rest of this comfort soon!

It took Jakes a few minutes to figure out what had woken him. He hadn’t been struggling through a nightmare--he’d woken quite certain of the warm body next to him. A low, pained moan to his left grabbed his attention. Morse. Jakes propped himself up on one elbow, glancing over Morse quickly. The pained expression on his face had intensified, and he looked to be dreaming. Jakes frowned. Maybe he should go in search of those painkillers and bring them back to bed. He knew Morse needed his sleep, but if his injuries were going to cause him discomfort, Jakes was willing to wake the man for a bit. Besides, Jakes wouldn’t mind holding Morse and soothing him back to sleep.

Jakes slid out from beneath the covers, noting with a small smile that Morse had somehow managed to land completely on top of all the blankets. He probably would have to wake the man, the room was quite chilly. With a fond shake of his head, Jakes wandered out of the room. He’d only be gone for a few minutes, back before Morse had a chance to wake up. 

* * *

Jakes was rummaging through Morse’s bag--which he’d deposited haphazardly on his small bed--when he thought he heard a sound, like Morse crying out. Jakes froze, listening. When his ears failed to pick up any other sounds, he chastised himself. Nightmares were one thing, reliving what had happened in that factory while he was awake? He’d have to watch himself. 

He finally located the pills, stuffed into a far corner of the bag. Likely Morse was trying to hide them, pretend he’d never gotten them. They really needed to have a talk. Soon. Pill bottle in hand, Jakes wandered into the kitchen to fill up a glass of water. No excuses, Morse was downing these pills and a glass of water. A low moan startled him, and he almost dropped the glass. Wind? He peered out of the window over the sink. Strange, the trees looked fine. He was truly hearing things. Jakes sighed. Maybe he would feel better if he could get Morse awake. He turned to head up the hall, freezing as a terrified wail wrapped itself around his soul. Oh God. Morse had woken up. Morse had woken up and Jakes wasn’t there.

Jakes rushed down the hall, nearly slamming into the door frame in his haste to get to Morse. He nearly dropped the glass of water when he spotted Morse curled up in a ball, shivering in the middle of the bed. At the sound of someone entering the room, Morse pulled his arms up to cover his head. 

“Morse!” Jakes barked. He was going to hurt himself more if he moved his shoulder like that. Jakes set the pills and water on the dresser and rushed over to the bed. “Dev? Dev, it’s okay.”

Morse started muttering from under his arms, slurred words that Jakes couldn’t place at first. But as he began to piece the scattered sounds together, Jakes felt his heart start to crumble.

“Please---just, god, please kill me. I can’t...I don’t want to...please, don’t make me, just kill me!” 

_God, Morse._ Jakes reached out a shaking hand, trying to bring Morse back to the present. Morse exploded like a coiled spring, trying to get as far away from Jakes as he could. He held his arms up in front of his face, as if trying to ward off any blows that might come his way. Jakes yanked his hand back, mind racing. He was afraid to touch Morse again, he didn’t want to risk Morse toppling off of the bed. But he needed to get Morse out of whatever terrors his mind had made out of what should have been the safety of their room. 

Morse was still babbling, terror lacing his words.“No, please, no! Please...don’t hurt me anymore. Stop, please!” Jakes wasn’t sure if Morse was reliving what had happened in the factory, or if he had managed to concoct new horrors. “I know they left me, I know, so it’s over, just...just kill me. It hurts, please!” Jakes felt his breath leave him. _‘I know they left me.’_ God, did Morse really think Jakes would ever leave him? Suddenly, Jakes felt Morse’s eyes on him. They were full of dread. Morse swallowed, his breathing panicked. Then it seemed as if his eyes focused in on Jakes, memories and nightmares retreating to the background. The strength of the emotions that flashed across his face nearly took Jakes breath away. _Disbelief. Gratitude. Love. Pain. Need. Sadness. Overwhelming relief._ “Peter?” He whispered.

And Jakes wondered how Morse managed to fit so much into his name. It was a plea--save me-- a promise--I love you-- an exclamation-- you’re here-- and perhaps the hardest for Jakes to handle, it was a request--don’t leave me. Jakes wanted to reach out and pull Morse into his arms, to hold him the way he had at the factory that night. His arms ached to protect Morse from his fears, fingers itched to smooth over the lines of pain and fear that were etched into Morse’s face. He wanted to cover Morse’s hands and neck with kisses, wanted to massage his good shoulder. 

But holding Morse like that-- as a protector-- was something Jakes rarely got to do, no matter how many times he longed to shield his Morse from the world. Endeavour Morse was a proud man; he kept his pain to himself, refusing to let anyone near. Jakes had slowly managed to earn Morse’s trust, at least Morse would admit to his pain if asked point blank (most of the time). He almost never sought out Jakes for comfort, though he was slowly learning to accept it when offered. Even earlier that day, Jakes had held back from how tightly he truly wanted to hold Morse. He’d promised himself he would respect Morses’ boundaries. Jakes never wanted to make the younger man feel, well, like a damsel in distress. But, God, he wanted to hold him now. 

“Dev?” He asked cautiously, slowly extending his hand again.

“Peter?” That haunted whisper again. “Are you real?”

Jakes tried to hide the way his breath hitched. “I’m real, Dev. See?” He gently laid his hand on one of Morse’s.

Morse turned his wide eyes to study the hand, then looked back at Jakes. “I thought it was you. But, you weren’t here. I was cold. I thought…” he trailed off. The hand under Jakes slowly twisted around until Morse’s fingers had intertwined with Jakes’. The pressure nearly caused Jakes to gasp. God, Morse was scared. “I thought you all left me.” 

It should have been an accusation. The fact that it wasn’t nearly made Jakes lose his resolve to keep his distance from Morse. The bloody idiot wasn’t angry, he was unutterably relieved to find that he hadn’t been abandoned by his friend--no, his lover. Jakes took a shaky breath, extending his other hand to Morse. “I’m right here, Dev. I’m not going to leave you. I promise.”

Morse stared at the hand, the way a starving stray cat regards offered scraps: suspicious, yet desperate. 

“Dev, please,” Jakes pleaded. “You’re hurting, and you’re scared. I’m scared too, Dev. Please...I need... I need to know you’re safe, okay? Please, just let me hold you.”

Morse looked up at Jakes, face frozen. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, fear and pain taking over his face. “Peter…” the whisper was pained, exhausted. 

“Endeavour, please.”

Morse let out a shaky sob and collapsed into Jakes’ arms, curling his body around Jakes’. He was shaking, both with cold and adrenaline. “Peter, please, God, I’m so sorry. Please, don’t let me go...I was so scared. I can’t do this, Peter. I can’t...I can’t get it out of my head.”

Jakes wrapped his arms around his Morse, pulling his close to his body. He willed his own body heat to warm Morse, begged a deity he didn’t believe in to let him bear some of Morse’s pain. Eyes closing, he let his face fall into Morse’s hair. “I’ve got you, Dev. I’ve got you and this time... this time they won’t take you away from me.” Morse’s hands clutched at Jakes’ back, as if he doubted Jakes’ words. “I promise, Dev. I’m not letting you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sing-song voice* I am not happy with how this turned out.  
> But then again, The Depression decided to come poke at me today, along with a slew of dizzy spells. So I am probably not in the best place to judge my own writing. Bleh. If you have any suggestions for this chapter, let me know!  
> I'm going to bed. Hopefully, this is more coherent than my cranky brain is insisting. More comfort coming soon. I'm working double shifts the next two days, so I'm not sure if I'll be back before Saturday. I'll try!


	19. Everything I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough week for these poor boys. Nightmares don't help, but cuddles might.  
> (sorry, all of my emotional energy went into writing the chapter, and now I can't summarize...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!!  
> Sorry for the wait, I worked late the last two days and late nights do not bode well for my writing.  
> In apology, have a metric crap ton of cuddles.

Jakes shifted backwards, propping himself up on the headboard of the bed and snagging a blanket with one hand. He tugged Morse along with him, so that Morse was leaning against Jakes’ chest, and jerked the blanket around Morse’s shoulders. Morse tensed at the movement and tried to pull away.

“No,” Jakes growled into Morse’s ear. He tightened his hold on Morse’s back. “I’m not letting you go, Dev.” It was a warning: don’t move. Jakes rested his head against the softness of Morse’s hair, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His free hand came up to Morse’s neck, fingers tangling in russet curls. Jakes’ eyes closed. God, he’d wanted to do this for so long.

Jakes was a tactile person, he’d always known that. Part of the reason he smoked was for the simple comfort of having something to feel, to keep him grounded. Close calls caused him to reach out for the solid safety of a cigarette. Triumphs were treated with a celebratory drag while lounging up against the sturdy presence of a wall. His expensive suits were made of high quality fabric and provided a touch of something gentle in the harsh reality of police work. And love was something he had to be able to reach out and touch as well. Running his hands through his lover’s hair, massaging away the aches from a long day of work, wrapping his arms around another body and drawing him close--for many people these were a way of _showing_ love. For Jakes, it was a way of _being_ loved: he was allowed to touch, caress, claim--all with the tenderness he’d been robbed of so early in his life. Not being able to do much more than cling to Morse’s fingers for nearly a week had been something quite close to hell for Peter Jakes. 

Jakes wanted to catalogue every single inch of Morse’s skin, checking for any marks that shouldn’t have been there and healing them with his touch. He needed to prove to himself that Morse was whole, healthy, and completely there. He desperately wanted to remind himself that this time, the world had failed to take away the one thing he valued in life. So Jakes let himself melt into Morse’s body, his fingers rubbing soothing circles at the nape of Morse’s neck and his chin massaging the crown of Morse’s head. Peter Jakes was still loved, as long as Endeavour Morse was alive and safe in his arms. They sat there for some time, seeking comfort from one another’s touch. Morse’s shaking body lay curled about Jakes like a frightened child as the terror of that night washed over him. Jakes clung to Morse fiercely, as much a comfort to himself as it was to Morse. He would never admit to the tears that slid down his face as Morse sobbed in his arms. Jakes never lessened his grip about Morse’s body, even as the tension slowly drained out of the younger man. Eventually, the violence of Morse’s sobs waned and his breathing began to slow. 

An exhausted whimper from Morse startled Jakes. He shifted his grip on Morse’s back, cradling him. “It’s alright, Dev. I’ve still got you, I promise.” He whispered the words into Morse’s curls, punctuating them with a brush of his lips across Morse’s forehead.

He felt Morse shudder in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” he whispered. 

Jakes’ hand tightened on Morse’s neck. “Dev, don’t.”

Morse gave a frustrated shake of his head--or at least he tried to. His body tensed again, as if he was preparing to pull away. “You...need to sleep,” he muttered, and _damn it_ , the self-hatred was back in his voice. 

“Morse,” Jakes whispered. “Oh, my Morse.” Morse stilled. _My Morse_ was a phrase he used rarely, and it carried weight in proportion to its scarcity. “I’ve slept alone in this bed, or on that bloody hospital chair, too many nights. There’ll be time for sleep some other night. I need you, my Morse.”

Morse’s body went limp again, and a stray sob escaped his lips. Jakes felt one of Morse’s hands sneak up between them, coming to rest on Jakes’ chest, near his heart. “I was so scared,” came the jagged whisper.

Jakes’ lips sought out Morse’s forehead again. “As was I,” he murmured. “I thought...oh, Dev, I just wanted to hold you, all that time. Just this, this was all I could think about.” He rubbed his thumb along Morse’s hairline. 

Morse tilted his head back a bit so that he could see Jakes’ face. Surprised lurked in his eyes, behind the fading fear. Jakes couldn’t resist the smile that creased his face as he took in Morse’s tear-stained expression. His Morse was alive and in his arms and, _damn it_ , if nothing else good happened in this life, at least he had this moment to remember. Before he even registered what he was doing, his lips found Morse’s. 

The kiss was slow and tender, but longer and deeper than any they had shared since that night. Jakes reveled in the feeling of Morse’s lips on his. They were soft and warm, like they should be. And this time Morse wasn’t just a passive recipient of Jakes’ attention. Jakes smiled into the kiss. He’d been missed, apparently. 

Finally they pulled apart, both a bit breathless. Morse’s eyes searched Jakes, looking for something. “Why, Peter?”

Jakes raised his eyebrows and pecked Morse on the nose. “Why what?”

“You just wanted this, me. Why?” Morse’s fingers ghosted over the side of Jakes’ face, his blue eyes following the path they traced. “Out of everyone you could have chosen, why me?” 

Jakes jerked back as if he’d been shot. _Bloody hell._ His arm around Morse’s back tightened possessively. “How can you ask me that?” The words wrenched their way from his lungs. Morse’s eyes found Jakes’, and the magnitude of doubt they contained threatened to overwhelm Jakes. 

“You could have had anyone, Peter.” Morse’s words were barely above a whisper. “You could have chosen someone you could take out dancing, someone you could actually marry. Why did you end up with me?”

Jakes stared at him, hoping the horror in his expression would suffice as an answer. When Morse continued to look apprehensive, Jakes forced himself to come up with something to say. “I didn’t--don’t want anyone else, Dev.”

“Why?”

 _Stubborn_ , Jakes’ frustrated mind supplied. Then his lips twitched in a smile, because that was part of it, wasn’t it? Morse’s stubborn streak, his inability to give up on anything--Jakes loved that about him. His ridiculous arrogance and intelligence too--things that scared others away but somehow drew Jakes in. And the way Morse cared about anyone who was hurting, though he tried not to reveal it. Jakes chose him for his loneliness too, for Morse’s soul was shattered in a similar pattern to Jakes’. His eyes roamed over Morse’s pale face, reminding him of what had first drew him to the man. He sighed.

“This is a conversation for the morning, Dev," Jakes said sternly. 

Morse opened his mouth to protest, and Jakes gently placed a finger over his lips. "I’ll give you a hint, to hold you over till then.” He captured Morse’s wandering hand in his own, bringing it to his lips. “I chose you because you’re beautiful.” He studied Morse’s index finger for a moment before kissing it. “Sensitive.” He sought out the next finger, kissing it as well. “Caring. Intelligent. Brave.” Each reason was punctuated with a kiss to a new finger. When he ran out of fingers, he slowly moved down Morse’s hand. “Forgiving. Driven. Stubborn. Arrogant. Lonely.” He paused, finally looking back at Morse. “Because you took the time to care about me. To save me.” He blinked away a few rebellious tears. “I chose you because I love you, Dev. That’s not going to change. Ever. I choose you, now and always.” Gently, Jakes laid Morse’s hand on his chest before gently caressing the side of Morse’s face. “I love you because you are Endeavour Morse. And you are mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all, for the encouragement on the last chapter. I was really insecure about it, so I appreciate all the comments! :)  
> I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter, and I hope that means you all will be too? I'm starting to build a universe around these two, so I'm getting into their characterizations. Of course, Morse decided to go and be all dramatic at the end, which left me and Jakes both going ?????? what do we do now??????
> 
> *sigh*  
> I'm off to bed. But, I'm super excited because tomorrow (well, today. It's 12:30 am here...) is Sunday and on Sundays I WRITE ALL DAY. So hopefully a few more chapters tomorrow. :)


	20. I See it on Your Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes muses about the winding path that has brought these two broken idiots together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I have no idea where this chapter came from, but have some Jakes introspection. My brain is rapidly forming the backstory of this AU, and with that comes moments like these.

When the weak rays of a winter sunrise attempted to penetrate the darkness of their room, Jakes’ eyes fluttered open. A wide smile blossomed on his face as he took in Morse’s peaceful form next to him. He’d finally managed to soothe Morse enough last night to get a few painkillers in him and then bundle him back under the blankets. Morse had snuggled up to Jakes’ body heat, like an abandoned cat seeking warmth from the hostile world around it. Jakes had lain awake for a while, watching his Morse intently to ensure the man fell back to sleep easily. He had marveled at the way Morse sought out Jakes’ hand, wrapping his long fingers around Jakes’ wrist and pulling the hand close to his chest.

Morse was still clinging to Jakes’ hand even now, hours later, as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did, in a way, Jakes mused. He reached out to smooth Morse’s sleep-tousled hair. Since they’d been together, Morse no longer looked like an abandoned waif. Jakes chased the man down multiple times a day, shoving some kind of food into Morse’s hands and glaring at him until he ate it. And while Morse hadn’t yet agreed to buy any new suits, Jakes ensured that his shirts were ironed and his ties clean. Jakes did intend to get the man into a decent tailor sometime soon, though he had to admit to a less than altruistic motivation for that adventure...he honestly couldn’t wait to see what that long, lanky frame looked like in a well-cut suit. 

This, though--a peaceful night’s sleep--had been one of the most elusive improvements in Morse’s life. When they’d first begun living together--and before they had begun sharing a bed-- Jakes had been horrified at Morse’s tendency to stay up most of the night with a bottle of scotch and a record on the turntable. He’d slowly coaxed Morse away from the bottle with his gourmet hot chocolate--Morse’s sweet tooth had been a delight to uncover. The opera he didn’t mind so much, but Morse’s refusal to rest had worried him incessantly. When he’d finally manage to coax Morse to share a bed with him, he’d realized how many nightmares plagued the other man’s sleep. Of course, Morse had discovered Jakes’ own nightmares as well.

But somehow they had limped along together. Jakes would wake from his nightmares to find Morse’s arms around him, long fingers massaging his scalp. And whenever Jakes woke to an empty bed, he would shuffle to the kitchen to fix Morse a cup of tea (or chocolate, if the night had been particularly bad). Morse would usually be curled into himself on one end of the couch, and Jakes would sit silently within reach. He’d learned early on that Morse in pain could be as volatile as an injured wild animal. He was skittish and reclusive, but he also shouldn’t be left alone. Jakes had learned that lesson a few times, once discovering Morse unconscious on the floor in the morning with an empty whiskey bottle beside him. It had been mostly full that night. Neither of them had shown up to work that day, and it had taken Morse a week to get over waking up in the hospital. This hand-holding, this was new. And given how calm Morse looked, maybe it was about time the man learned to reach out and grab what he needed from life.

That was one of the differences between them, Jakes knew. Both had been shattered by their pasts and the barbed opinions of others, but Jakes had learned long ago how to manipulate the system to get what he needed from life. He took it without shame, as a tax upon life for the misery it had heaped upon him. He learned how to ingrain himself with the popular and how to use the currents of power to his advantage. Morse, however, elbowed his way amongst his peers, lashing out in anger and retreating inward with his pain. His pride left him in poverty of body, mind, and soul. Yet, Jakes admired the way Morse remained true to his principles. He wouldn’t bend with the raging storms of police politics and he wouldn’t share a pint with anyone just to earn their favor. From Morse, Jakes was learning how to be true to what he valued--no, first he was learning what it was that he valued in life. And he hoped that somewhere along their rocky path, he could teach Morse how to seek out the comfort that he needed.

Morse’s fingers tightened about Jakes’ hand, and he brought his attention back to the younger man’s face. Blue eyes were staring at him quizzically, a slight smile curving about his lips. “You’re far away,” Morse murmured quietly.

“Not really,” Jakes replied, leaning over to steal a good-morning kiss. “Just thinking about you...about us.” Jakes ran his fingers through Morse’s hair, relishing in the way Morse’s smile deepened at the touch. “About this.” He squeezed Morse’s hand. Morse’s eyes sought out their conjoined hands, then glanced back to Jakes. “You don’t usually do this. It’s nice.”

Morse’s expression sobered, and for a moment he looked about to retreat into his shell. To Jakes’ delight, however, Morse pulled their hands closer to his chest. He pressed a kiss to Jakes’ knuckles and closed his eyes for a minute. When those blue eyes opened again--staring directly at Jakes with an intensity that made Jakes shiver-- they were full of tears. Morse’s grip on Jakes’ hand was painful, but Jakes didn’t dare move. He’d never seen a crack in Morse’s armor this wide before; it felt as if he could see straight into the other man’s soul.

“I need you,” Morse whispered, as if afraid his voice would shatter the moment between them. “I never...I don’t...Peter, I’ve never felt safe. Not the way I do...when you’re here, when I know you’re here.” Jakes held his breath, not wanting to do anything to cause Morse to retreat back into himself. “I’m so afraid of losing that. Of losing you. Waking up in the hospital, every time I expected you to be gone. I don’t know why you stayed. But I hope…” Morse paused, taking a deep breath. His voice was stronger when he started again, as if he’d made up his mind to say what he wanted, consequences be damned. “I hope you’re always here, Peter. I don’t know what would happen to me if you weren’t.”

Jakes reached out his free arm, wrapping it around Morse’s back and drawing them together. He pressed his lips to Morse’s forehead. “If I couldn’t hold you in my arms, Endeavour Morse, I’d be lost.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, mind searching for the right words. “I need you, Dev, as much as you need me. We’re both bloody disasters, you know.” He pulled back, intense dark eyes meeting frightened blue ones. “I’ll be right here, everytime you wake up. I promise.” Morse stared at him for a long moment. Then he surged forwards, his lips staking their claim on Jakes’ own mouth. Jakes froze for a moment, startled; Morse almost never initiated _anything_ (though he was an enthusiastic follower of Jakes' ideas). But Jakes wasn’t going to complain, not right now. Hell, not ever.

Jakes kissed Morse back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, uh, while we are at it, this story has nearly surpassed the other WIP that I've been working on for like 3 months. I stumbled on my initial outline for this story, and it had--wait for it--TWO CHAPTERS. *stares into camera*  
> What. Happened.
> 
> Also, no regrets.  
> I do finally have an ending scene planned, but I have to figure out how to get there...... Oh, and I also have a solid 5 more stories planned in this AU. Please, send help. This plot bunny turned into a monster and it has taken over my life.


	21. When You Say That (you don't believe me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some morning musings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter. I needed to get them to a place where they can have A Talk about Morse being a self-sacrificing idiot and, being me, I can't seem to just jump-scene to the relevant bit. *sigh*

Though Morse seemed to be content to simply lay in Jakes’ arms, he was going to need another dose of painkillers. Jakes had been shot a grand total of one time in his career--just nicked, really-- and it had hurt like hell. Knowing Morse, the man probably wouldn’t say anything until it was too late. He’d likely end up either unconscious or in the throes of another pain-fueled nightmare, and Jakes really didn’t want a repeat of last night. He would gladly return to the safety and comfort of their bed later, but he needed to get some food into Morse first.

Morse whimpered when Jakes pulled away, and refused to let go of Jakes’ hand. 

“Hey, Dev, somebody has to make breakfast.” Jakes smiled down at Morse, the thumb of his captive hand rubbing over Morse’s knuckles. Morse pouted, and it took all of Jakes restraint to not fall all over him then and there. He mustered up his sternest mock-glare. “Endeavour Morse, I will not have you collapsing on me because you didn’t eat. I’ve spent enough time worried sick about you in the last week.”

Morse glared back at him, but reluctantly let go of Jakes’ hand. “I’m fine,” he muttered. 

“You are most certainly not fine, Dev. You’ve been shot, stabbed, and existing on a diet of hospital food.”

“Wasn’t stabbed. Slashed.” 

Jakes rolled his eyes. “Fine, slashed then.” Blast it, why did Morse have to be so adorable when he was sulking. Jakes relaxed his expression. “Come on, up you get. I’ll help you get dressed. Let me make us a cuppa, and some breakfast. Alright?”

Morse huffed. “I’m not an invalid. I can dress myself, thank you.” He rolled off of the bed and onto his feet--too fast, Jakes thought. 

Morse had barely gotten to his feet before his face drained of the little color it had. His eyelids fluttered and he swayed dangerously. Jaked was at his side in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around Morse and lowering him back to sit on the bed. 

“God, Dev, why are you so bloody stubborn?” He pressed a hand to Morse’s forehead, relieved to find it cool and dry. Just stood up too fast, then. 

Morse sucked in a few deep breaths. “Thought that’s why you stuck with me?” he whispered, shakily but with a hint of teasing. 

Jakes stared at Morse for a long moment, long enough for Morse to glance up at him in alarm. “I just wish you’d be this stubborn about taking care of yourself.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to Morse’s temple. “Now, will you let me help you get dressed, so I don’t end up peeling you off of the floor?”

Morse leaned into Jakes’ side for a moment before nodding. 

* * *

Breakfast over and done with, Jakes had bundled Morse onto the couch while he cleaned up the kitchen. Morse had been all too happy to accept the mug of hot chocolate that Jakes had offered, as well as the stack of crosswords he had missed over the past few days. The doctors had insisted he rest his mind due to the force with which Bertelli’s pistol had collided with his head. Morse had not been pleased. The smile on Morse’s face when Jakes handed him the small (gift-wrapped) stack of crosswords had been worth the papercuts Jakes had received while cutting them out (and wrapping them).

When he was finished with the dishes, Jakes fixed himself a cup of chocolate before padding into the small sitting room. He paused in the doorway, breath catching in his throat at the sight of Morse, curled up under a heavy knitted throw (Mrs. Thursday’s handiwork, if Jakes recalled correctly). A book lay balanced on his drawn-up knees, supporting a crossword. Morse held his chocolate in one hand, rather distractedly, and ran his pencil through his curls with the other. Fondness, gratitude, and lingering fear mixed together in Jakes’ mind. Fear as he recalled wondering if he’d ever get to see his Morse absentmindedly combing his hair with a pencil again. Gratitude at witnessing Morse content and whole on their couch once again. And fondness for the lovable disaster that Jakes called his lover. 

Jakes leaned against the doorway, taking a sip of his chocolate. He wondered how long he could stand there, just watching Morse, until the man would come out of his trance. A smile formed on his lips; he’d stand here all day if he could, drinking in the sight of Morse’s untroubled, beautiful face. Rarely did he get to see Morse so relaxed, entranced with something as non-threatening as a crossword puzzle. Jakes laughed quietly to himself; rarer still were the moments when Morse would actually let Jakes stare at him. The man never seemed to understand quite how bewitching Jakes found him to be. He’d usually start squirming if Jakes stared at him too long. 

Morse had apparently missed the solace of his crosswords, for Jakes’ cup was nearly empty before Morse finally noticed him. He stared up at Jakes, face caught somewhere between ‘nine across, starting with a’ and embarrassment. The pencil was, as usual, tangled in a few curls. 

“Peter? Why…why are you staring at me?” Morse’s eyes widened suddenly, face lighting up. “Avuncular!” He exclaimed triumphantly. He bent back over his crossword to scribble down his prize.

Jakes tossed his head back and laughed, rejoicing in getting to share another morning--another gloriously mundane morning-- with his Morse. 

Morse was glaring at him when he finally sat down at the other end of the couch, a touch of his old suspicion in his eyes. “What’s so funny?” _Shit_ , he thought Jakes was making fun of him.

“Oh, Dev,” Jakes started, letting his smile soften into something almost tender. “I just missed you, here, doing this.” He waved his hands at Morse. “I missed you,” he repeated softly. 

Morse stared at him, eyebrows raised skeptically. “Intermittently shouting archaic and extravagant words?” Jakes winced at the old barb, and Morse’s glare softened. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.”

Jakes nodded, accepting the apology. The two of them hadn’t started out as much better than rivals, and both still nursed regrets and wounds from their first years working together. Jakes was pretty certain he had more to apologize for, but Morse, bless him, rarely brought any of it up. “It’s alright. Although, if you must know, I did, rather. Miss your archaic and extravagant words. I’ve quite gotten used to them, you know.”

Morse’s lips twitched, a half-smile threatening to break through. “Not sure I believe you there.” He muttered.

And that was the issue, wasn’t it? The thing that had been bothering Jakes since that night. Morse, telling him to run. Morse, whispering _“be happy”_ as he lay dying. Morse, unable to believe that Jakes wouldn’t just leave him in the hospital after all that. Morse’s willingness to sacrifice himself just to save Jakes. Morse, asking _“why did you choose me?”_ Somewhere in that magnificent brain of Morse’s, he seemed to be unable to believe that Jakes actually cared for him--or that he was worth caring about.

Jakes took a deep breath, setting his mug down on the table deliberately. It was time to have a talk about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Avuncular" means "resembling an uncle in kindness or indulgence", and no I did not spend a solid 5 minutes trying to find a Morse-worthy word.....
> 
> This chapter fought me _hard_. I can't tell if it's because I'm tired, running out of steam for this particular story, or just a typical case of writer's block. My brain keeps suggesting ideas for other stories in this series and I'm like "MUST FINISH THIS FIRST DAMMIT". 
> 
> I got real distracted (and don't have the energy for The Conversation) so I went back and added in chapter titles....
> 
> Anyhow, I hope this is okay. It feels a bit weak, but I need to move on. A Conversation will be had next. :)
> 
> Thanks for your encouragement, folks! I can't tell you how much your lovely comments mean. <3  
> Also--I'm still taking ideas for other things you would like to see between these two in this series. I already have a "Peter Learns to Not Leave Morse with a Bottle" and a "Peter Takes Morse Shopping" planned, in addition to two prequels about how these two stubborn, disaster men got together. I love taking prompts :)


	22. Tell Me Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes has a conversation with Morse. It goes about the way you would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BACK.  
> I've been missing because 1) WORK. 2) I've been at Steel City Comic Con! 3) My muse got really tired. and 4) I've been AFRAID of this chapter.  
> But my muse sparked today, so I'm back. And also, guardianoffun is the BEST and helped me out. Although that means more angst got added.....

“Dev,” Jakes started carefully. “We need to talk.” Morse’s face froze, his face turning deathly pale and eyes suddenly wide with fear. _Shit_. Having a conversation with Morse sometimes felt like a bloody hostage negotiation. Jakes sighed. “About this.” He slowly reached his hand out to gently touch the side of Morse’s pale face. “About whatever just went through that massive brain of yours.” His words were jesting, but Jakes made sure his tone was laced with compassion and tenderness.

Morse’s eyes were wary as he stared at him. “What do you mean?” He pulled back a bit, pressing into the edge of the couch. His body language made it clear he was expecting rejection. 

Jakes forced himself to stay firmly at his end of the couch, despite every part of him longing to reach out and take Morse in his arms. He wanted to wipe that haunted, lonely look from Morse’s face forever. Not for the first time, he was glad that Morse’s father and stepmother were beyond his reach; he wanted to throttle them both. Susan too, wherever she might be. Jakes curled his hands into fists at his side and took a deep breath. 

“Last night, when you….when you thought you were still in that factory. You said...you thought we left you?”

Morse pulled himself back into the corner of the couch. “I thought you’d called off the search.” He shrugged. “It was Christmas Eve.”

“And you’re a copper!” Jakes protested. “Thursday would never have left you in there, let alone me.”

Morse stared at him. “Doesn’t matter anyhow. It was just a dream.” 

“But you thought we left you! And before, at the hospital--you just expected me to leave you there that night.”

“It was Christmas Eve, Peter. And then Christmas Day. No one wants to be in the hospital on Christmas.”

“So I should have just left you there, that’s what you’re saying?”

Morse’s forehead crinkled as his irritation turned to confusion. He searched Jakes’ face, looking for clues as to what he was supposed to say. “I didn’t want that man to kill you,” he finally said, voice soft.

“You wanted me to just leave you there, with him?” Jakes tried to quell the anger in his voice. He didn’t quite succeed. “Don’t lie to me, Dev.”

The silence stretched painfully between them for what felt like an eternity. Morse’s eyes bore into Jakes’, too many emotions swirling within their depths for Jakes to decipher. Jakes stayed as still as possible, trying to give nothing away. He needed Morse to admit to his own fear, to understand that it was normal to be afraid and that it was acceptable to want your lover’s arms around you when you were afraid. Sometimes Jakes wondered if that’s really what had happened in Morse’s lonely childhood: his distant father and hostile stepmother had convinced Morse that wanting--no, needing-- love and companionship was reprehensible. 

Finally, after a shaky inhale, Morse whispered into the air: “No.” He slumped forward, eyes turning towards his long fingers. “I didn’t.” His head snapped back up violently, eyes flashing defensively. “But I didn’t want him to get to you.”

“You were willing to…” Jakes closed his eyes and forced himself to say the words. “You were willing to die just to keep him away from me?”

“Yes.” Jakes felt a shudder rush through him at the steel in Morse’s voice. 

“Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?” Jakes whispered. He wondered if he was supposed to feel grateful that Morse would be willing to die for him. All he felt was dread.

Morse raised his eyebrows. “You would have lived.” He made it sound so simple, as if Jakes could just pick up and move on. As if it wouldn’t have taken half of the CID to drag him away from Morse’s... _body_. “You would have found someone else, you would have been happy and you would have lived. That’s all that mattered to me.”

The way Morse sat there, calmly explaining to Jakes how he could have just...been happy _without Morse_ , sent a sharp spike of pain and anger into Jakes’ gut. Was it really possible--after all they’d been through--that Morse didn’t know how much Jakes cared? What the bloody hell was wrong with the man--he was a brilliant detective but he couldn’t piece together what the past months had meant? They’d moved in together, they’d shared a bed together, they’d shared….much more than that. What the devil did the man expect, a written declaration?

Jakes launched himself off the couch, towering over Morse. He took in a few deep breaths to steady himself. “Endeavour Morse, do you love me?” Morse shrank back. “What?”

“I said: do you love me.”

“I...what...how can you ask that? I just--”

“Answer the bloody question, Dev!”

Anger sparked in Morse’s eyes and he shuffled upright. “You know damn what the answer is, Peter Jakes. What the hell did you think I was doing that night? Trying to save you!”

“And what the bloody hell was I supposed to do without you? Just pick up and find someone else?” 

“I wasn’t jumping in front of a bullet just so you could sulk.” Morse spat. 

“Sulk?! God dammit, Dev, do you have any idea what you mean to me?”

Morse snorted disdainfully. “We all need someone to keep us company, Peter. I’m glad to fulfill that role as long as you need me to. But there are plenty of others out there who could take my place.” His words were tinged with an arrogance that left Jakes chilled.

Surely….surely that wasn’t all that he was to Morse? Just a bed warmer? Someone to keep him company? Jakes’ frantically searched Morse’s face, hoping he’d heard wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cliffffffhanger* :)  
> I'm really not great at dialogue, so appologies. But many, many thanks to guardianoffun who coached me through this one and inspired MORE. (just when I thought I was almost done with this)


	23. (Find someone to) Treat you Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes discovers why Morse was so eager to sacrifice himself to save Jakes.  
> And there are tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides tissues* No, I wasn't crying while I was writing...whatever made you think that??
> 
> I hope you like? I am in an introvert cave of withdrawing from people, so I'm writing frantically and not really re reading. Please forgive all of my spelling errors and such. I intend to fix such things once I'm done with the story. :) [Also, this is totally not brit-picked, if you haven't noticed. Feel free to offer corrections!][Kinda late for that disclaimer I guess...]

“Is that all I am to you, Dev,” Jakes asked, voice dangerously low. “Company?”

Morse stared solidly at the wall behind Jakes. “Men like us, isn’t that the best we can hope for?”

Jakes snapped, Morse’s emotionless tone slicing through his resolve to stay calm. He reached down and grabbed hold of Morse’s good arm, yanking him to his feet. “Men like us? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Morse yelped, trying to free his arm. “Let go of me, Peter!”

“Answer me.”

“Answer what, Peter? I don’t even know what it is we’re supposed to be talking about.” Morse freed his hand with a violent tug. “You never said.”

Jakes was too angry to notice the hint of fear lurking in Morse’s eyes. “What am I to you, Dev? Just company? Just someone to keep your bed warm?” With each accusation, Jakes stepped closer to Morse. Morse inched backwards, until he was against the back wall. “Just a way to pass the time until you make sergeant?” Jakes knew that was too far, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

Morse’s head jerked up as if he’d been slapped. For a moment, he looked stricken. Then turned his face to the side, shoulders hunching as he glared at the couch. He refused to answer.

“Dammit, Dev, answer me! What the hell are you doing here--no, what the hell are you doing attacking a madman for the sake of simple company? I’ve known you were crazy since I met you, but I sure as hell thought you had more sense than to risk your life just for company.” Morse clenched his jaw and continued to glare into the distance. “You think I could get along just fine without you, huh? That’s what I was supposed to do? Look at me, Morse!”

Morse’s stormy blue eyes met Jakes’ obsidian anger. Emotions swirled about in Morse’s eyes, too fast for Jakes’ frustrated mind to comprehend. “If I died, yes. I wanted you…” he paused, eyes darting back to the floor. “I wanted you to be happy.” He paused for a moment. When he glanced up again, his face was pale and emotionless. “Why does this even matter, Peter?” 

“Why? Because I want to know why the bloody hell you chose to sacrifice yourself. Why you thought you had the right to tell me to be happy. Why the _fuck_ you thought all I cared about was company.” Jakes was nearly on top of Morse, nearly shouting at the man. “I want to know _exactly_ what I am to you.”

“Dammit, Peter, you’re my life!” Morse snapped. His voice had an unfamiliar loudness to it, the kind that suggested the truth was provided under duress. Morse was breathing heavily, eyes fearful and....were those tears? His next words were barely a whisper: “And I’m no good for you.”

Jakes stepped back, breath catching in his throat. Jakes felt his anger fade away alongside the first tear that slid down Morse's cheek. He’d found what he was looking for, but it wasn’t what he was expecting. “What did you say?” he whispered. 

Morse was shaking now, eyes trained on the ground. “I’m no good for you. I’ve never been. Everyone…everyone I’ve ever known, they walk away worse for it. I’ve not left one...not one person unscarred.” His words were low, unsteady with suppressed sobs. “I always hoped...I hoped I could leave you on a good note. I wanted you to be happy.” He straightened, meeting Jakes’ eyes and making no attempt to stop the tears that were leaving trails down his face. “I only wanted--God, Peter--I wanted to give you a happy ending. I wanted you to be happy.” Morse took a tentative step forward, lightly caressing Jakes’ face with his fingers. “I wanted to give you a chance. God, I didn’t want to hurt you.” He dropped his hand, waving it helplessly for a moment. “I’ll go. I just. I wanted--please, Peter, just be happy? For me?”

Panic surged through Jakes as Morse turned to walk out of the room. “Dev!” He held his hand out, stopping the younger man. His mind was racing, trying to piece together Morse’s broken fragments. “Where are you going?” Were it not for the subject at hand, Jakes would have laughed at the utter confusion on Morse’s face. 

“You’re...you’re better off without me, Peter. I can’t...I can’t, God, I can’t do this anymore!” Morse dropped his face into his hands and suddenly slid to the floor. Jakes dropped next to him, landing on his knees with a heavy thud. 

“Dev? Dev, talk to me!” 

“I can’t do this to you, not anymore.” The words were muffled through Morse’s tears. “I can’t be a burden to you. I love you, Peter. I have to...I have to let you go. You’ve got to find someone. Someone who’s good for you.” 

_Good lord, could this week get any worse._ First Bertelli tortured and tried to murder his Morse, and now Morse himself was trying to leave? Because he thought Jakes would be _better off without him_? Jakes latched onto the first concrete thought that Morse had formed in the last few minutes.

“Burden? Dev, what are you talking about?”

Morse lifted his head out of his hands, but refused to meet Jakes’ eyes. “I’m a disaster, Peter. I can’t even remember to eat unless you remind me.”

“Yeah. So I cook you dinner. Why is this a problem?”

“Someone should be looking after you!” Morse protested. “You deserve every happiness, Peter. You need someone to take out dancing, someone to show off. Someone you can be proud of, not someone to hide in the shadows.” Morse’s words were rushed, and Jakes could tell he was close to hyperventilating. “Someone should be here, looking after you, ironing your shirts, making you chocolate at night. You shouldn’t be...you don’t need--”

“Endeavour.” This was ridiculous. This needed to be stopped. “Do you love me?” 

Jakes was certain he’d never seen Morse look more heartbroken than he did in that moment. “I love you more than anything, Peter Jakes. I want you to be happy. I want you....I need you to find someone, and be happy, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to both AstridContraMundum (who reminded me that nothing ever goes smoothly between these two disaster men) and guardianoffun (who requested MORE ANGST).
> 
> You like?


	24. (Let me) Treat You Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected ending to a tense conversation....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grins evilly*  
> For reference, I was not expecting this to end this way. At all. But guardianoffun said something and then this happened. I have no regrets, at all.

Jakes reached out and rested his hand on Morse’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb along the healing scar, and let his lips curl into a smile as Morse leaned into the touch. “And what about you, Endeavour Morse?” he asked quietly, tenderly.

“Me?” Morse whispered.

“What about your happiness?” Jakes moved his hand to Morse’s neck and began gently rubbing the tense muscles there. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Morse murmured, closing his eyes slightly at Jakes’ ministrations.

“It matters to me.”

Morse’s eyes fluttered open. “What?”

“The trouble with you, Dev, is you never stop to ask anyone anything. You just conjure up these theories--and they’re good theories most of the time--but you never bother to ask anyone’s opinion.” Jakes took a deep breath, desperately searching for the right words. He prayed this would work. “You’re talking like you’re going to leave me--for my own good. Answer me this, do you want to go?” Jakes saw the lie form in Morse’s eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Dev. Please.” 

“No.” The longing in that single syllable was sharp enough to draw blood.

“Why?”

Morse opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took a shaky breath before whispering, “I love you. I don’t want to...you’re safe, Peter. You’re the only person who’s ever felt safe. Secure. Like you care.”

“Oh, my Morse.” Jakes brought his other hand to rest lightly on Morse’s other shoulder. “I do care. So much. You want me to be happy? Then don’t go. Please, Dev, let me love you.”

Morse regarded him suspiciously, loneliness and fear mixing together in his eyes. “You don’t want me, Peter.”

Jakes huffed, frustrated. “Are you listening to me at all, Dev?”

Morse shook his head, russet curls falling into his eyes. “You’re not listening to me, Peter. I’m no good for you. I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever cared for. I’m...God, Peter, I’m no good.” Morse’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I hate this. I’d hate you, if I could. For making me say this.” He blinked up at Jakes through his curls. “I’ve never...I’ve never said this to anyone. But, Peter, you have to know. You have to, just let me go. Let me go back, where I can’t hurt you.”

Jakes brought both hands up to cradle Morse’s face. “You’re right, I do need to know. I need to know why you won’t let me love you. I need to know why you pull away from me, from what you want. You couldn’t hurt a soul, Endeavour Morse. You like to think you’re so tough, so smart.” Jakes sighed, his face softening more than he’d ever allowed it to before. “Sometimes, you remind me of a lost kitten, Dev.” 

“Kittens have claws, Peter.” Morse murmured. He closed his eyes and Jakes gently brushed his curls out of his eyes. “I’ve scratched everyone--”

“Dev, stop it!” Jakes snapped. Morse’s eyes flew open, and _damn_ \--there was a sick sort of satisfaction there. He thought he had succeeded, he thought he’d pushed Jakes away from him. Well, if he thought Jakes was that easy to shake, he was in for a surprise. “You’ve hurt no one. You think I don’t know what your talking about? Your father, Susan, Rosalind Calloway, Thursday?” Morse flinched from the names. “You’ve hurt no one. Not one single person. Not intentionally, anyhow. They’ve hurt you, or themselves. And god knows you’re not responsible for what happened to Thursday at Blenheim Vale. I take my own blame for that night.” Morse opened his mouth to protest, and Jakes shut him up with a kiss. “I know, we’ve been over this. You pulled me out of that, remember?” Jakes pulled back just far enough to be able to look Morse in the eyes. “You taught me how to forgive myself. For that night, and for what happened after.” 

Jakes closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Morse’s, fighting the memories of the awful night they’d got a call from the prison. Morse had been attacked by a group of revenge-driven inmates, and the guards had been slow to come to the aid of a supposed cop-killer. Morse probably wouldn’t have made it if Bright hadn’t given orders that he be transferred to the John Radcliffe. Jakes still had a hard time with that memory. He opened his eyes again and found Morse peering at him with concern. Jakes smiled. 

“See, even now, you’re just worried about me.” Jakes leaned forward and captured Morse’s lips in a slow kiss. “The only way you could hurt me, Endeavour Morse, would be by leaving. Let me take care of you, the way you’ve taken care of me. Please?”

Morse pulled back, his eyes searching Jakes’ face. He looked like he was teetering on the edge between two choices: to fall towards Jakes or pull away from him for good. Fear that he would take the well-traveled path caused Jakes to lose control.

“God dammit, Endeavour Morse! I’m trying to tell you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you!” Morse’s eyes grew impossibly wide as Jakes snapped his mouth shut. He hadn’t intended to say that. Although, it wasn’t wrong, and maybe it was what Morse needed to hear. “I want to. Not because I have to, not because you want me to. I want to. I chose you, Dev, out of everyone. I love you. And if you want me to be happy...Dev... never leave me. Please.” Jakes reached out and wound his fingers through Morse’s. “I can’t ask you to marry me, not legally. But...God, Dev, if I could...what would you say?”

Jakes thought he’d seen beauty before...in sunrises, in a flowering cherry tree, in Morse’s sleeping form. But he realized, as he watched hope blossom slowly on Morse’s face, that he’d never really seen beauty. Not like this. In the slow awakening of hopes long buried. In the sudden nurturing of a seedling of love that had struggled so long without care. In the dawning of realization that Endeavour Morse was loved and wanted--not for his brain, nor his careful speeches, nor even for his beautiful singing voice--just for who he was. 

In that moment, Peter Jakes vowed to do everything in his power to prevent the world from ever hurting this beautiful, arrogant, fragile man again. If Morse would let him. 

Morse leaned in, touching their foreheads together. “God, Peter, _yes_.” And then he was falling into Jakes, melting against him and clinging to his back. He was sobbing into Jakes’ shirt, and Jakes didn’t care. Jakes buried his face in Morse’s neck, peppering it with kisses. As they both clung to one another, each counted himself among the lucky ones. For against all odds, they had found love in one another, and they were never, ever letting go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like that???? :D I'm literally flailing because I'm so excited about what just happened between these to murder boyfriends and I'm hoping y'all are too.
> 
> And, guys, that's it!! I (almost) finished it! I just have an epilogue, because I promised mistletoe. And it's a good thing this is just about done because I have milked Treat You Better for all of the titles that could possibly be in it. Yikes. Thanks for sticking with me, friends!
> 
> Things to look forward to in the next fic [Sharp Dressed Man]: what will Morse do for his Peter, now that they are (basically) engaged?  
> And after that [Stitches]: HELLA ANGST AND PAIN.  
> And in the prequels: What happens when I get my hands on things that should have happened? Like The Tiger? And Morse in Prison? And Coda? *evil laughter*
> 
> Feel free to continue sending prompts. I love prompts. My imagination brain is literally a tank of gasoline. Send it a spark and *boom* things happen. As we have seen.


	25. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their "conversation" and also, mistletoe!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> I was away for several days and had no internet access. I wrote this several days ago and haven't reread it, so I hope it's acceptable. I'm in the type of mood where I'll probably delete everything if I try to reread it now....

Jakes kept his arms wrapped around Morse until the younger man finally stopped shaking. Then he pulled them both back onto the couch, tucking Morse’s discarded blanket around them. Both of them were exhausted from the trauma of the last few days, and the emotional aftermath of what had turned out to be a proposal hadn’t helped. Jakes smiled down at Morse, marveling at the way Morse curled himself around Jake’s body. He looked for all the world like a stray kitten that was finally learning to trust in the warmth and safety it had found. Jakes ran his fingers through Morse’s hair before bending over and placing a kiss on his forehead. Morse sighed and snuggled into Jakes. 

“Rest, my Morse. Let me love you, okay?” Jakes whispered, hovering just above Morse’s face.

Morse’s eyes slid open, and the intensity of emotions within their blue depths took Jakes’ breath away. Pale fingers wound their way about one of Jakes’ wrists possessively. Morse drew Jakes’ hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on his knuckles. He didn’t say anything, but Jakes could read those blue eyes easily: ‘thank you’, ‘I love you’, and ‘don’t let go.’ So Jakes held on tightly, until Morse drifted off to sleep. 

Jakes knew Endeavour Morse well enough to understand that their conversation wouldn’t fix everything, not right away. Morse was damaged nearly as deeply as Jakes, and his deep emotional wariness wouldn’t disappear overnight. But Jakes had seen hope take root-- at long last-- and he was certain he could keep that hope growing over time. He’d meant every word he had said, about wanting to spend the rest of his life with Morse, and he would do anything in his power to prove that to Morse. The man had shown him what it meant to love and be loved, and in doing so had given Jakes a reason to live and a light to follow. Jakes had every intention of returning the favor tenfold, if he could.

He could plot ways around Morse’s defenses later. For now, he simply wanted to rest, content in the steady breathing and comforting weight of his chosen life partner. Jakes took a deep breath, shifting a bit so that he could comfortably rest his head against Morse’s soft curls. He closed his eyes and allowed Morse’s breathing to lull him to sleep.

* * *

Jakes’ first day back at work was a nightmare. Leaving Morse behind, albeit in the safety of their flat, had been far more difficult that Jakes had anticipated. Every ring of the phone sent Jake’s heart racing, unreasonable fear spearing his heart as he imagined a call out to their flat. His mind supplied images of a bloodstained body with russet curls and unseeing blue eyes. Every slammed door sounded like a gunshot, sending images of Morse lying at Bertelli’s feet racing through Jakes’ mind. Even in the moments when the station was still, Jakes struggled to concentrate. Memories of the past week shared together kept filtering into his mind. Good memories, certainly, but just as distracting as the icy stabs of terror. 

Jakes had never put much stock in the theory that there were “silver linings” even in the darkest of clouds. The days that had followed Morse’s near murder, however, made him wonder if there was some truth in that old proverb. Morse had been his usual prickly self for the most part, but there seemed to be a subtle shift in Morse’s behavior. Jakes supposed anyone else wouldn’t have noticed the, but to him it meant everything. It meant that a small part of Morse was starting to relax into the safety that Jakes was offering. It meant Morse was willing to accept Jakes’ overtures of comfort without protest--and sometimes with a shy smile that made Jakes’ heart melt. It meant Morse was slowly beginning to trust that Jakes wasn’t just looking for “company” or a handy shag. And Jakes hoped with all of his heart that it meant Morse was beginning to believe that he was loved. 

The first time he noticed the change had been the night after their talk. When the two of them retired for the evening, it was always Jakes who would pull Morse in for a cuddle. Morse always complied enthusiastically, but never initiated. That night, Morse reached out his hand, tentatively, and rested long, cold fingers on Jakes’ wrist. He looked like a frightened kitten as he stared up at Jakes.

“Hold me?” Morse whispered. Jakes didn’t need to see the remnants of fear in Morse’s eyes to comply, but he certainly wrapped his arms around Morse just that much tighter because of them.

Late that night, Jakes woke to find Morse pressed into his side, face buried in Jakes’ flannel pyjamas. Morse was shaking with silent sobs. Instantly, Jakes’ hand flew to Morse’s curls, smoothing them back as he coaxed Morse out of his fear. Morse buried himself further under the covers and closer to Jakes, apologies mingling with his tears. Jakes calmed him with gentle words and soft hands, rubbing away the tension in Morse’s back. Once Morse was sleeping peacefully, Jakes pressed a kiss to his love’s forehead, joy thrumming through his veins. It was the first time Morse had ever sought Jakes’ out for comfort. The first time in the four months of their clandestine relationship. 

The next day, when Morse simply sulked while Jakes helped him button his shirt--instead of forcefully pushing Jakes away--Jakes couldn’t resist pressing a rather enthusiastic kiss to Morse’s (quite beautiful) pouting lips. The shirt ended up unbuttoned on the floor a few moments later, but neither of them really minded.

Moments like these had peppered the remainder of Jakes’ leave, and he had hoarded them in his mind like precious jewels. As he tried to focus on the papers in front of him, he found himself turning to these treasures. He replayed them, hoping to replace the haunting images of blood on Morse’s thin chest. Slowly, those lazy days spent together overtook the shadowy remnants of Jakes’ worst fears. By mid-afternoon, Jakes was no longer jumping at every sudden noise. He was even beginning to hope, as he remembered Morse’s lazy good-bye kiss that morning, that someday Endeavour Morse just might believe that he was indeed the most precious thing in Peter Jakes’ life.

* * *

By the time darkness fell outside, Jakes was getting jittery again. He’d not been away from Morse this long since he’d been injured; he had taken his lunch breaks at the hospital before he’d gone on leave. Morse had been in decent spirits when Jakes had left that morning, but Jakes was never comfortable leaving the man on his own for too long. Morse tended to think too much. The steady parade of various colleagues stopping by to inquire after Morse’s health—or “joke” about how miserable of a roommate he must be—hadn’t helped. Between realizing that he did not know that Morse was alright _at that moment_ and having to pretend to be at least mildly annoyed at his lover, Jakes felt he was going to snap. Thursday must have noticed the strain on his face, because he ordered Jakes home at half-past five.

“If you look this ragged punching away at that paperwork, I’d not like to guess how Morse is getting along. Bored out of his mind, likely,” Thursday mused. He’d called Jakes into his office, motioning for Jakes to shut the door. “How has he been? With everything?”

Jakes could read between the lines easily enough. It was no secret that Morse’s responses to trauma were less than healthy at the best of times. They could be downright harmful on a bad day.

“Well enough, sir.” Jakes shuffled a bit uncomfortably. Morse had been tentatively reaching out over the past week, since their talk. He hadn’t quite managed to _ask_ for help, but would silently come up to Jakes and tuck himself into the taller man’s side. Jakes knew what he needed, and his heart thrilled each time Morse trusted him enough to seek out the comfort he so desperately needed. Still, telling their boss exactly what had prompted the slow change… maybe he should just paraphrase. “I had a talk with him, told him it scared me when he pulled away. He’s been trying.”

Thursday nodded, taking a draw from his pipe. “Good. I’ve not kept as close an eye on him in the past. Regret that, sometimes, when he looks so lost.” He studied Jakes for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Though he hasn’t looked quite as ghostly since the two of you started sharing a flat.” Jakes let his eyes drop to the edge of the desk, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Come to think of it, you’ve looked a bit less tattered at the edges.”

Jakes glanced up, smiling slightly at the amused expression on Thursday’s face. “Pair of disasters, the both of us, sir. Didn’t seem right to inflict ourselves on the rest of society.”

Thursday smiled back. “Well, best get on back to your man, then. Mind how you go, Sergeant.”

Jakes nodded, and did exactly that.

Later, he would wonder if he should have bid the other officers good-bye before rushing headlong out of the nick. 

* * *

Jakes let himself into the flat, fingers fumbling with the keys. All of his anxiety from that morning had returned, and he’d convinced himself something terrible had happened. When he finally stumbled through the door, he wasn’t certain that something terrible _hadn’t_ happened.

The flat looked a bit as if it had been done up for a holiday photo shoot. Some green garlands had been strung across the tops of the doorways, bits of brightly colored paper were scattered about the walls, and a bloody _Christmas tree_ was standing in the corner. Completely decorated, with several shiny packages sitting beneath it. 

And then there was Morse. Morse, in a dark green jumper, collapsed on the couch.

Logically, Jakes concluded that Morse had decided to decorate for Christmas, and was likely just tired. Of course, Jakes concluded this _after_ he’d shouted Morse’s name and crashed down next to the couch in a panic.

Morse’s eyes blinked open slowly and a wide, joyful smile spread across his face. “Peter!” Before Jakes could register what was happening, he found himself pulled into a hug. When Morse noticed Jakes’ stiffness, he pulled back. Those beautiful blue eyes searched Jakes’ face. “Peter?”

“Dev, oh God, I’ve been worried about you!” And then Jakes pulled Morse into his arms and kissed him.

When Jakes finally let go of Morse, the younger man’s eyes were laughing at him. “I’ve been right here.”

Jakes brushed his hand through Morse’s hair, not caring what Morse thought of him. “I prefer you where I can see you.”

Morse’s eyebrows raised. “Not a fan of the decorations?”

“Actually, I just like looking at you.” Jakes kissed him on the nose, just to watch him turn red, before glancing about the room again. “As for the decorations, how did that happen?” A sudden thought struck Jakes and he glared at Morse. “Did you go out in this weather? You’re not supposed to be out and about for another few days.”

Morse rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t go anywhere. Mrs. Thursday sent me off with most of this when Strange and I were living together. Apparently she was cleaning.” Morse gave Jakes a look that suggested he didn’t believe that excuse. “I’d forgotten about it until the other day.” Morse flushed a bit more, and peered up at Jakes through his eyelashes. “I wanted to surprise you. Since our Christmas got…interrupted.”

“You decorated? For Christmas?” Jakes repeated. Endeavour Morse, putting up Christmas decorations? Wonders must never cease. 

Morse’s eyes widened, doubt simmering just below the surface. “Is it…is it okay?”

Jakes let himself relax, and gave Morse a soft smile. “It’s lovely, Dev.”

Morse’s smile returned, and for a moment he looked almost as excited as a child. “Here, you go look at the tree. Mrs. Thursday had some unique ornaments. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Jakes did as he was told, though he might have stared at Morse’s retreating form a few moments longer than he should have before wandering over to the tree. _Morse decorating for Christmas_. Well. Maybe the man really was starting to feel at home. Jakes let his eyes inspect the tree, though he wasn’t really paying attention to the decorations. 

“Peter, come here a minute,” Morse called from the kitchen doorway. 

Jakes glanced up from the tree. “Alright?”

“I wanted to show you something.” Morse canted his head towards the kitchen. 

Jakes abandoned the tree and started towards Morse. He noted vaguely that Morse remained standing in the doorway. When Jakes reached him, eyebrows raised questioningly, Morse pointed upward.

“Mistletoe, Peter Jakes.”

Jakes barely registered the greenery hanging above him before he found himself pressed up against the doorframe, Morse’s lips claiming his. Surprise flooded his veins, followed rather quickly by something much warmer. Morse-- his shy, awkward Morse—had kissed Jakes first. And it was most definitely not one of Morse’s usual, chaste kisses. Morse was after something, and the way Jakes’ head was spinning, he was likely to get it.

By the time Morse pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Jakes was trapped between Morse and the wall, and Morse’s hands were tangled in Jakes’ hair. Morse’s blue eyes were shining and his smile was the most brilliant thing Jakes had ever seen. 

“What was that for?” Jakes asked, trying to catch his breath. 

“To thank you, Peter Jakes. For treating me better than anyone I’ve ever known.”

And then Morse kissed him again, and Jakes decided he really did believe in silver linings after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaanddd that's a wrap!!
> 
> Phew, that was one heck of a journey! Thanks for sticking with me, y'all! This story went from me going "oh, i'll write about 3k words about this scenario" to 30k+ words and a daunting amount of additional stories....
> 
> I've got a decent start on another fic in this little AU I've created and will probably be posting a chapter or two from that very soon. Also, there just might be a collaboration in the works!! *grins mischievously*
> 
> Thanks for reading friends!!!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfiction, and my 3rd completed story _ever_. I've spent the last 10 years assuming I couldn't write anything worth reading. I decided I didn't really care about 4 months ago, and then about a month ago I was like "I should write a little Jarse fic". Then...all of this happened? Whoops.
> 
> Also, credit must be given to both guardianoffun and fitzrove, as their Jarse works were the ones that sparked my imagination in this ship. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos, and comments!


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